Tenchi Muyo : Fantasy
by Zyraen
Summary: Starring Tenchi and co in a fantasy world of dragons, orcs, elves, wizards and magic


Most characters, generally those affiliated with Tenchi Muyo  
are the property of AIC and Pioneer. These include Ryoko,  
Tenchi, Aeka, Nobuyuki, Achika, Azusa, Funaho, Misaki,  
Washu, Sasami, Tsunami, Kagato, Tokimi, Clay, Nagi, Kiyone,  
Mihoshi, Mitsuki, Kain. The concepts associated with the 3  
gems of power, certain lines in the story and Tenchi-ken also  
hail from Tenchi Muyo.  
  
Characters specified below to be owned by others are of  
course, the property of their own authors.  
  
Credit goes to Joe Dever, author of the Lone Wolf series, for  
the general storyline, conception and idea, as well as the  
names of numerous cities, places and titles within this fic,  
excepting the elves and the element of magic within this  
story. Here are just some of his ideas - the existence of the  
Sommerswerd (Tenchi-ken), the Kai (Cyr) Lords and their  
disciplines, the Brotherhood of the Crystal Star (the  
Sisterhood of the Silver Sun), the Darklords (Kagato) and his  
host (helghast, vordaks, drakkarim, nadziranim, tukodaks),  
the Feast of Fehmarn (Feast of Fealty), the Elder Magi (Sylvan  
Sentinels), Gwynian the Sage (Funaho the Savant), Alyss the  
Demigod (Sasami), the Deathstaff, and other things to deal  
with the world of Magnamund (Aeon), especially the  
topographical settings. Note these are just SOME of his ideas,  
god knows his mind is frigging prolific ^_^ . The brackets  
indicate how the original concepts have been changed in this  
fic to units different from his original one, excepting the notes  
on the Darklord's host, which just shows some of its  
components.   
  
The elves and their societal ruling system of the Sylvan  
Sentinels, are a figment of imagination originating from the  
(warped) mind of Zyraen, and are standing in for the Elder  
Magi from Joe Dever's original concept, as well as for the  
Galaxy Police from Tenchi Muyo. All the elves are property of  
Zyraen, excepting Kiyone, Mihoshi, Mitsuki and Clay. Note the  
name Kuramitsu as used by Hisamura originates from  
Pioneer and is the surname for Mihoshi.  
  
The god Cyraqs is the property of David Nolen K`thardin, and  
is featured in his semi-lemon fanfiction story Eternal Heavens.  
  
The girls Reilly and Tress were created by Kai_Kerrigan for  
the purpose of this fic.  
  
The character Serajadeyn is property of Serajadeyn, and is  
featured in a soon to be released fanfiction story known only  
as Dimension : Stained.  
  
The character Grel was created by Night Owl for the purpose  
of this fic.  
  
TENCHI MUYO : FANTASY  
  
Based loosely on the Legends and Gamebooks of the Lone  
Wolf series, by Joe Dever  
  
Chapter 1 : Onslaught  
  
Not again...  
  
Tenchi sighed wearily, surveying the forest before him.  
Garbed in sky blue ranger style clothing and with a similarly  
coloured hood and cloak fastened about him, Tenchi held in  
one hand a rather small hatchet, while his sword hung from  
his side.  
  
Stupid rule, doesn't allow us to chop down trees. Just go  
around and collect firewood, then use this miserable excuse  
of an axe to hack it up so you can carry it.  
  
As if to make him feel worse, behind him the monastery broke  
out in another round of cheering as the acolytes and the  
other Cyr (pronounced Sai) Lords enjoyed another round of  
food.  
  
The Feast of Fealty was an annual day of celebration at the  
monastery of the Cyr Lords of Tsunami, which were named in  
honour of Tsunami's consort the god Cyraqs. This was the  
one day all around the year that the Lords could put down  
their aspirations, duties and trainings to enjoy each other's  
companionship, to delight in good food and enjoy the life of  
the party. On all the other days, they would be training to  
better themselves and their combat skills, and to untap their  
potential power.   
  
For indeed, the order was more than just about combat, it  
taught the warriors to tap into their innate Juraian power in  
various ways to augment their survival and battle abilities.  
The members were chosen from young amongst the  
population of Jurai, before being initiated in the ways of the  
Cyr Lords, and thereafter would devote their lives solely to  
the perfection of their combat abilities and innate disciplines  
in defence of Jurai as well as to the devotion of Tsunami. Few  
were allowed the privilege of returning home or even knowing  
about their parents, so Tenchi was very lucky in that he could  
go back to see his parents at least once a year.  
  
Unfortunately, it meant he often got marked down for duties  
on this day of celebration, as he technically already had more  
than his fair share of days off when he went back to see  
Nobuyuki and Achika in Jurai's capital of Holmgard, some  
way north of the Cyr Monastery. And so here he was.  
  
Trudging stoically on into the forest, Tenchi groaned inwardly  
as it started to drizzle lightly.  
  
Great. It always works that way, Tsunami knows why...  
  
Sometimes he really wondered if Tsunami really did smile on  
him.  
  
Somewhere behind him, perhaps fifty or so metres, a slight  
shape of a girl moved soundlessly through the forest, tailing  
him. Cyan curls hanging out from within the light blue hood  
brushed lightly against a tree, the watcher's amber eyes spied  
on him, and anyone who saw her form would doubtless agree  
that even if Tsunami didn't, Ryoko certainly did smile on him,  
or at least at him.  
  
There are currently only three females in the entire  
monastery, and the youngest one of them was Ryoko. Girls  
were accepted into the order only if they were all alone in the  
world, under two years of age at time of admission, and had a  
strong potential within them, so it just happened to be  
Ryoko's luck and Tenchi's misfortune, at least in his opinion,  
that she was accepted. Although only as old as he, she was  
better at her skills than Tenchi, probably because, at least in  
Tenchi's opinion, her motivation was so to make it easier to  
track him when he tried to run, especially with regards to her  
tracking and camouflage abilities. In the opinion of Yosho, the  
current Jurai Grand Lord and leader of the Order, it was  
because Ryoko had only Tenchi as distraction, while Tenchi  
had Ryoko, his emotional ties to his parents and his chores to  
contend with, not to mention that the girl had been in the  
monastery for almost three years before Tenchi had been  
recruited into the order.  
  
Trying to stifle her giggles, Ryoko practically glided her way  
over the undergrowth and melted into the forest after  
Tenchi's distant shape.   
  
Tenchi wandered about, and started picking up pieces of  
wood. Most were moist and damp from being too long in the  
undergrowth, but he was used to it, and knew they would be  
useful as they had ways of drying to wood back in the  
monastery.  
  
He paused suddenly, as his Sixth Sense, an attribute he had  
just started to nurture recently, warned him that he was not  
alone...  
  
Spinning around, his hand on his sword hilt, Tenchi's brown  
eyes scanned the undergrowth about him carefully. All was  
still... except...  
  
AAH!  
  
"Whew..." He breathed softly as he saw a squirrel scamper  
past through the undergrowth. He let his sword, almost three  
quarters out of its scabbard already, slide back in. "Come on,  
there is no reason for anything dangerous to be nearby..." he  
consoled himself. There were the wooded sylvan forests of  
North Edwyn to the west, inhabited by the elves, along with  
the Durncrag Mounts beyond them, which were patrolled  
frequently by the elves, that stood between here and the  
brooding evil of the Darklands, the armies of the Darklord  
Kagato...  
  
He was about to turn around and pick up the hatchet he had  
dropped on the ground when something caught his eye,  
about fifteen metres from him. Almost instinctively, he  
reached over his shoulder for...  
  
His fingers grasped around empty air.  
  
Oh no, I don't have my bow!  
  
Light, soft, warm laughter that rang through the air, and  
though his sense of danger evaporated instantaneously,  
Tenchi's eyes widened as fear gripped him tight.  
  
"Well, congrats on spotting me, Tenchi." Ryoko smiled  
genially, almost crookedly, as her hands tossed back her  
hood and she slid out from under the cover of the plants, and  
the green and brown on her cloak and hood faded back to  
sky blue as her Camouflage ability desisted. "You don't know  
how glad it makes me to have you looking at me."  
  
Tenchi watched with apprehension as Ryoko stretched,  
standing within a ray of light from the morning sun that had  
broken through a gap in the cover of the forest to light up the  
raindrops that glimmered off the cyan hair that flowed down  
to her chest. Almost casually, she pushed aside the folds of  
the cloak from around her, and Tenchi gulped as the light  
illuminated her form, and the shine off the tip of the bow she  
had mounted behind her back served to contrast sharply  
against the curves of her outline. It is worth noting that her  
clothing, which was designed for men, did suffer a certain  
sort of tension and strain upon her, that made her full figure  
very easy to discern, indeed.   
  
"Well, this is as good a place as any," Ryoko smiled. "Let's  
see how well you use that sword of yours." She started  
walking, very briskly, towards him.  
  
"I have to be doing my duty..." Tenchi blushed red, trying  
desperately to remind himself there was NO way Ryoko could  
even know what that might imply, given her tender age and  
the environment she had grown up in, and against his will his  
eyes followed the swinging sashay of her hips. "And since  
when did you ever care how well I fight!?"  
  
"Fight?" Ryoko laughed, as her footsteps quickened into a  
run. "Who said anything about fighting?" She grinned. "It's all  
about having fun..." Her sword slid out from its scabbard, in  
one smooth fluid motion, without her changing her pace as  
her leather boots covered the distance between her and  
Tenchi.  
  
He took one last look at the lady swiftly descending upon  
him, her light blue cloak trailing in her wake, her sword  
gleaming from the raindrops, her eyes shining eagerly, then  
turned, and ran...  
  
====================================  
  
Aeka sighed from atop her steed. This trip back to Toran was  
too slow for her liking, and worse, it was dull.  
  
Clad in the purplish pink robes of a journeyman of the  
Sisterhood of the Silver Sun, her long purple ponytails  
hanging out over behind her to brush against the sides of her  
horse, Aeka intoned the words of the spell Eagle Eye, and  
cast her eyes out ahead. Affirming with her magically  
enhanced vision that there were indeed no hidden bandits  
preparing to spring ambushes along the track, she gave a  
nod to the two hired bodyguards mounted on either side of  
her,   
  
"Move on!" One man turned and cried to the merchant  
caravan about a hundred metres back, which proceeded  
onward at his signal. Aeka rolled her eyes at the sound of his  
coarse voice.  
  
What a drag...   
  
She stared at the sky, noting that the position of the sun  
showed it was early morning...  
  
DAMNIT I should at least be on the King's Highway by now,  
maybe from where I can see the Cyr Monastery to the west...  
then after that would only be several hours of galloping to get  
back to Toran. Yet, here I am, and at this pace we're going it's  
going to be at least late evening by the time I get to that same  
place...  
  
The Archmistress of the Sisterhood, none other than Lady  
Washu herself, had apparently decreed that Aeka in particular  
be sent from Toran to learn some of the ancient lore from an  
old magi down south in Rhenon known as Lady Funaho the  
Savant. This order was apparently handed down to the  
Archmistress from the great Tsunami herself, as part of  
Aeka's journeyman training, and so great and awesome was  
the honour Aeka had received as upon accepting this divine  
decree that there were rumours she would be the future  
Archmistress of the Sisterhood, and that her entry to the  
ruling council of the Sisterhood, known as the Serene  
Sanctum, was practically assured. Not that it wasn't in the  
first place - King Azusa and Queen Misaki of Jurai had rather  
high hopes pinned on their daughter. When her latest quest  
had started Aeka had been delirious with joy at the thought of  
one day being able to don the Silver Robes of the Serene  
Sanctum, but it was downhill from there. Aeka had spent over  
three weeks scouring Rhenon for signs or rumours of the  
Savant, but it had been fruitless, until she met a little girl.   
  
Her mind wandered back, as she was searching the streets  
again, asking around if anyone knew anything about anyone  
called Funaho or the Savant. Almost subconsciously she had  
bought a loaf of bread from a convenient baker nearby before  
tossing it to the starving beggar girl...  
  
"Thank you Miss!" The grubby little darling had called. "My  
you are pretty!" Before giggling a little, hands anxiously  
cradling the loaf of bread.  
  
Aeka had been startled by the manners of the beggar, the  
compliment, and most of all, how the little girl had not  
immediately wolfed down the loaf of bread, and let herself be  
led on by her intuition.  
  
"Come here," She had beckoned, and as the girl approached,  
it was with some surprise Aeka realised that beneath the  
grime her hair was a beautiful blue, like that of Goddess  
Tsunami herself, while the scrubby face looking up at her was  
rather kawaii if not for the grubbiness. "Who taught you your  
manners, child?"  
  
"A lady," the beggar had smiled cheerily, pink eyes twinkling,  
as she broke off bits of the loaf to chew on. "I like this bread,  
it's nice."  
  
"What's her name?"  
  
"I don't know... Hmm..." Sasami, for that was indeed who she  
was, looked around thoughtfully. "I don't know, but I think  
she said something about someone looking for her... Is your  
name Miss Aeka Jurai?"  
  
That was when Aeka's heart had skipped a beat. "Yes, yes I  
am Aeka Jurai! What do you know of Lady Funaho!?"  
  
"Lady Funaho? Who's that?"  
  
"Erm..." Aeka had thought. "Never mind, tell me how to find  
her!"  
  
"I don't know, I can't remember..." and her eyes became  
abstracted and distant. "But I have a song... a song she  
taught me because I couldn't remember." Sasami laughed a  
delightful laugh.  
  
"Well, what is it?"  
  
"Erm, well I don't think I'm very good at singing," Sasami  
blushed.  
  
"Oh?" Aeka started in surprise.  
  
"You mustn't tease!" the little girl stared earnestly at Aeka. "Or  
I might cry..."  
  
"No no, I'm sure you sing beautifully..." Aeka tried. She didn't  
have very much experience with little girls, especially  
strangers, and beggars at that.  
  
"You... you think so?" Sasami asked hopefully.  
  
"I *know* you sing well," Aeka smiled. "Question is, will you  
sing at all?"  
  
"Oh, I will!" Sasami gave a cheery little jump of glee. "Here  
goes then!"   
  
And she broke out into song...  
  
"The times are wrong, ill winds blow strong,   
  
The fealty's mark, will blood make dark.   
  
A wicked cage, a turncoat mage,   
  
Has wrought in steel, yon fate to seal.   
  
Hie thee back north, with speed go forth,   
  
Return to warn, a land soon torn.   
  
Dark times draw near, your quest ends here,   
  
No more you seek, this Savant meek.   
  
But heed this well, soon death's dark knell  
  
On thee be thrown, should you be lone.  
  
With others pace, in light to brace  
  
To pass thee by, thy doom to die."  
  
Aeka stood stunned, her face blanching white as the ill  
bidding words seared themselves deep into her memory,  
leaving her amethyst eyes wide and staring.   
  
Sasami stared at her, lips trembling, then whispered,  
worriedly. "Erm, is it okay?"  
  
The princess, or rather, journeyman sorceress, stood  
stockstill.  
  
"Aeka? Did you like it?" Her eyes became sad. "Oh, you  
didn't like it... you *lied*!"  
  
And that cry somehow roused Aeka from her stupor...  
  
Oh huh, what the...?  
  
"You said you would like it!" Sasami murmured brokenly,  
looking at her.  
  
"Oh no no no! You sang beautifully, really...!" And Aeka had to  
spend the next few minutes coaxing Sasami, and the respite  
helped her regain her composure and get her bearings.  
  
That had all happened yesterday afternoon, and Aeka had  
had to spend precious time searching for travelling  
companions heading in the right direction. It might have been  
meant figuratively, but after all, it was Aeka's life at stake, so  
the princess decided not to take any chances and interpret it  
literally as well, hence her present position...  
  
"Excuse me," Aeka asked the other man by her side. "Would  
you be so kind as to ask Sire Albern if it would be acceptable  
to pick up speed? I really do have to get back to Toran as  
quickly as possible, and I can keep a good look out that will  
give him ample warning.  
  
"Yes, ma'am," the guard nodded respectfully, and galloped  
back to the caravan.  
  
Aeka sighed again.  
  
What Aeka had no way of knowing, was this...  
  
Soon after she had left the beggar girl's side, Sasami had  
passed by another little beggar wench and her street urchin  
brother, smiling at them and waving the loaf of bread  
enticingly. Following her, in the hopes of getting some share,  
they found she had turned into a alleyway they knew to be a  
cul-de-sac, but when they turned the corner, there had been  
no one there... except for the loaf of bread on the ground.  
  
====================================  
  
A shimmering yellow aura encapsulated her form, then  
vanished as the caster unmade it to replenish her own  
energies.  
  
"There, you got that?" The lady asked her partner, who was  
sitting down and looking at her with some kind of admiring  
awe.  
  
"Wow!" She clapped, laughing. "Kiyone, you're great!"  
  
The green haired elf gnashed her teeth in frustration. "The  
point is... *did* you get it!?"  
  
The one standing, with her teeth grinding together, had long,  
beautiful dark green hair that extended past her waist, its  
colour seeming to meld perfectly into the verdant beauty of  
the trees' lower canopy, while her eyes were a lustrous  
emerald green. If it were not for the frustration that marred her  
countenance, she would have been considered beautiful,  
even among elves, with her fair skin, her comely face, high  
cheekbones, full lips, and nice, pointed ears. Her face,  
however, lacked a little in length to make her look adequately  
an elf.  
  
The other, the one sitting down and applauding gleefully, was  
comely too, and in a more elfin fashion. Blonde curls, while  
extending only up to the small of her back, gave her the  
classical elvish beauty, accentuated by the tips of her ears  
that peeked out from under the sea of golden hair. Big, bright,  
blue eyes, full of energy and zest for life, took up much of her  
rather adorable face, and like her partner, she might have  
been ideal paragon of elvish beauty if not for her chocolate  
brown skin, which was considered unusual among elves.   
  
But visual appeal was among the last things on their minds.  
Their flowing robes of lincoln green, along with their hoods  
lined with faint eldritch symbols in colours of sky blue,  
denoted them as Sentinels, at least in training, and it was not  
exactly part of their job specifications to look good.  
  
The elves thrived in the many forests and wooded areas of  
the world of Aeon, and the order of the Sylvan Sentinels  
reached back as far as the history of the elves, yet much of  
the lore of old had been lost in the mists of time. It was said  
that at their height, their order had defeated the most dreaded  
champion of Tokimi, none other than the Archdaemon Kain  
himself, and his hordes of chaos, before sealing him into the  
Plane of Darkness for all eternity. Unfortunately, it seemed in  
the battles much grief had fallen upon the elves, and  
countless magicks, skills and knowledge were lost in the war,  
so that the order was but a shadow of what it was before.  
  
Nevertheless, shadow though it was, the Sentinels were still  
one of the most deadly forces to be reckoned with, and it was  
not just because almost half the population of elves joined  
their ranks. Their most common ranks, those of Elven  
Warriors, were qualified to be crack shots in just about any  
human army, as well as able and deadly fighters. Their Elvish  
Mages wielded powers of healing and searching as far  
reaching as the land itself, while their attacks made up in their  
range, speed and energy conservation what they lacked in  
raw power and damage. Most rare were the cadre of Elvish  
Elite, who were unparalleled in their weaponmastery and  
archery, as well as being comfortable with magic, although  
they generally found little need to employ it, and were  
unmatched by all save those within the upper echelons of the  
Cyr Lords of Tsunami themselves.  
  
These two had just joined the ranks of the Magi. Both had  
been through the Warrior selections, and Kiyone had been  
looking to completing this and being chosen to join the ranks  
of the Elite, harbouring high hopes of eventually becoming  
one of three Prelates who held sway over the great forest of  
Edwyn, home to the elves within Jurai. Only the small enclave  
of trees near the Cyr Monastery, west of the King's Highway,  
was not inhabited, and in fact kept out of bounds by the elves  
for the uses of the Cyr Lords.  
  
All that might happen, of course, provided that she managed  
to survive being assigned to help her friend Mihoshi out with  
her spelling, a task not for the faint of heart...  
  
"Erm..." the blonde replied. "I'm not sure, Kiyone..."  
  
"Mihoshi, come on!" Kiyone exclaimed, throwing her hands  
up in the air. "Don't tell me you can't even get a simple  
shielding spell right!?" Sheesh, and on the Feast of Fealty  
day, no less...  
  
"Uh... okay, I'll try..." Mihoshi stood up and started to chant.  
Kiyone tensed, then heaved a sigh of relief as she heard  
Mihoshi intone familiar words.  
  
Whew, okay she got that right...  
  
She thought back to some months before, for the final test  
within the ranks of the Sylvan Warriors. Each warrior had to  
disarm four uninitiated elves, each armed with a sword and  
shield, using only a wooden sword, which was made to  
weigh as much as a normal blade. Incidentally, these elves  
were probably going to try their best too, as they were aiming  
to join the Sentinels...  
  
Kiyone had looked on, worried, as she saw Mihoshi step into  
the clearing. Though Mihoshi was a Prelate's granddaughter,  
there were strict rules preventing his interference into such  
affairs, knowing her friend's swordsmanship, Kiyone was  
anxious about Mihoshi making the cut...  
  
"Uh hi!" Mihoshi waved to the four astonished elves, who had  
been preparing to pounce on her. "Do you happen to know  
where I could get a real sword? This wooden one just isn't  
going to do it for me, and Kiyone will be so mad if she thinks  
I've lost my sword..." She had laughed nervously, and looked  
so cute, that the four young elves, coincidentally all male, had  
all unthinkingly thrown their swords at her feet, each thinking  
the combined strength of the other three would be able to  
defeat her...   
  
Kiyone laughed as she recalled the four of them later,  
pleading with the overseer to let them try again...  
  
Mihoshi continued chanting, and Kiyone knew her stuff well  
enough to know instinctively that Mihoshi was definitely  
spelling correctly, albeit slowly as she was uncertain still...  
  
Then had came the archery test.   
  
The candidate was required to fire three arrows, all at once,  
into an apple hanging from a tree about a hundred metres  
away. The overseer would be watching from a safe spot,  
under cover, to see if the person hit her mark.  
  
"Ooops," Mihoshi had said, and Kiyone remembered feeling  
her heart sink as Mihoshi's arrows had disappeared into the  
crown of the trees about fifteen degrees left of the target, and  
probably missing the mark by over twenty-five metres.  
  
And was absolutely mortified when the overseer ran out to  
congratulate Mihoshi personally.   
  
"Congratulations, Warrior-Sentinel Mihoshi!" he had  
exclaimed breathlessly, his face pale with fright. "That was  
remarkable, awesome! In over thirty years of overseering,  
never once has a pupil spotted me..."  
  
Apparently, Mihoshi's arrows had just embedded themselves  
in the trunk of the tree he was leaning on. Two arrows had  
embedded themselves by either of his ears, while the last  
arrow had just scraped his scalp to land directly above his  
head.  
  
Back in the present, Kiyone's ears suddenly pricked up.  
  
Hmm, no doubt about it, she certainly got a spell correct this  
time at least...  
  
And the thought suddenly struck her ...  
  
"Mihoshi!!" Kiyone jumped to her feet, eyes staring wide.  
"No...!"  
  
"...zakas." Mihoshi looked up, beaming as she realised she  
had finished the spell and a golden glow lit up her right hand,  
incidentally pointing directly down at the ground. "Yay! I ..."  
  
BOOM.  
  
The forest shook slightly before the sound of an explosion,  
and several trees nearby were dispossessed of their foliage.  
A flock of birds took to the air from the place, then all was  
still...   
  
"...did it..."  
  
====================================  
  
"And that is all for the lessons today; you will have five days  
to gauge the skills you have been taught and on the sixth  
day, you will be tested on your capabilities to use them in a  
combat situation. Class is dismissed."   
  
The lecture hall abound with students this particular day, and  
all of the adepts that had attended this class hurriedly left the  
room in preparation to hone their newly taught spells. At the  
far end of the classroom stood the near-legendary  
Archmistress of the Silver Sun, her uniform of crimson red  
and black robes partially hidden by the green half-cape that  
clung to her shoulders. Hanging her head slightly, the woman  
sighed heavily before turning to go; it wasn't in her nature to  
allow the students five whole days to study.   
  
As the Archmistress exited the lecture hall, she was greeted  
by two young girls, both raven haired and energetic.  
  
"Are you ready, Archmistress..." asked one of the two girls,  
tilting her head in anticipation.  
  
"...to begin your research and meditation?" finished the other  
girl, a chipper smile crossing her face.   
  
The Archmistress smiled for a moment then gave a gleeful  
series of chuckles and laughs, which caught the nervous  
attention of students as they traversed the hall. She waved  
the two girls to follow her as she made her way through the  
halls of the academy. As they walked along the halls and  
down several flights of stairs to the lower reaches of the  
academy, Washu began to re-evaluate her personal checklist.  
  
"Now, all of the materials that I had asked for are already in  
the lab, correct?" Washu asked, never bothering to look  
behind her at the two students in tow.  
  
One of the girls, the one with pigtails that hung to the small of  
her back, smiled from ear to ear. "Of course, Archmistress! I  
made sure that all the materials made it there myself. Well..."  
the girl stopped for a second when she saw her peer's scowl,  
and tapped her lips with a finger, before adding, "Reilly  
helped, too."  
  
"Of course I helped, Tress! You still haven't been able to  
master the teleportation spell for the life of you! If I didn't,  
you'd be lugging all of that stuff down here by hand!" Reilly  
exclaimed, her short boyish hair bristling with frustration. As  
the three ladies kept walking, the red-haired beauty chuckled  
quietly to herself; for Washu chose these two girls both for  
their willingness to learn, and for the simple fact that they  
amused her so much. The two girls kept up a lively banter  
about things both academic and otherwise, but then they  
subsided suddenly. For they now found themselves before  
two huge oak doors, with ancient runes and engravings  
embroidered into both the trim and the doors themselves.  
  
"Now, once these doors close, I'm not to be disturbed for five  
days; I'm expecting some peace and quiet while I'm  
researching and conducting my experiments. You two are the  
only ones allowed to enter or leave this area." Washu  
explained as she waved her hands in front of the doors. The  
great oak doors swung open slowly, creaking as if they had  
not been opened in years.  
  
"Understood, Archmistress," Tress stated, nodding her head  
slowly as she acknowledged her Archmistress' order.  
  
"We will not let anyone pass." Reilly finished, taking her turn  
to nod in agreement. The Archmistress slowly made her way  
into the laboratory, with its various artifacts and tables set up  
in the   
  
huge interior. As she turned to face the two girls, the great  
doors began to close,.  
  
"Oh yeah, and one other thing..." Washu began, as the doors  
closed to almost a slit.   
  
The two girls leaned in closer, listening expectantly.   
  
"DON'T BLOW ANYTHING UP!!" the sudden shout from  
Washu made both of the girls face fault onto the stone floor.   
  
Picking themselves up, both girls glared meaningfully at the  
giant doors, now closed fully, and began walking toward the  
set of stairs leading up to the main levels of the academy. As  
the two finally stepped out of the stairwell out into the main  
hall, a resounding explosion shook the foundations of the  
academy.   
  
Reilly shook her head slowly, and gave Tress a flat look. "And  
she's one to talk."  
  
====================================  
  
A good while before all this...  
  
"What the...?"  
  
The three Sentinels, two warriors and one mage, stared in  
surprise as they made out the figures of two elves passing  
below their vantage point, through the pass from the west,  
from the Darklands.  
  
Both were stumbling along haphazardly over the rocky  
inclined surface of the Durncrags, clinging on to each other,  
and as they drew closer to the outpost, one of them fell down  
on to the ground from exhaustion, a hand pressed to his side.  
The other managed to crawl several metres closer, before his  
energy gave out, and he too fell still. Neither were discernible  
as being dressed as Sentinels, and that probably meant they  
did not know of the existence of this outpost, as all the  
surveillance points the elves had chosen were cunningly  
hidden within the terrain, and could not be found without  
foreknowledge or a truly divine twist of fate. These outposts  
had been set up for the purposes of watching the activities of  
creatures moving out of the Darklands, and acted as early  
warning signals if the armies of evil were to advance once  
again. The elves at the outposts were not expected to fight,  
but to escape and warn their superiors... especially the Magi.  
  
"Should we help them?" The two warriors asked the mage,  
uncertainty clouding their faces.  
  
She furrowed her brows deep in thought. Clearly both were  
still alive, but from the look of things, they were unlikely to last  
out much longer. Tersely, she nodded, and watched as the  
two other elves, easily picking their way across the rough  
terrain, each hefted up one elf and brought them back to the  
shelter of the outpost.  
  
"Do you think they'll be all right?"  
  
"Should be, soon," she answered, examining them. "Get back  
on watch, I'll handle them..." One was breathing normally, the  
one that had lasted longer, and had a nasty bleeding wound  
in his thigh, but the other had a deep wound in his side, and  
his breathing was shallow and uneven.  
  
A thought struck the elvish mage as she prepared to...  
  
Oh no, what if they are...  
  
Yes of course that fits the bill perfectly...  
  
Keeping herself calm, she made to stand up, intending to  
warn the other two to take care, then suddenly the eyes of the  
more seriously hurt elf sprang open, to glow with malevolent  
red light.   
  
"GET OUT OF HERE!!" She screamed as she leaped back, her  
fingertips crackling with energy, and the injured elves sprang  
up, their forms changing to become misshapen, their skin  
darkening and their faces contorting into grotesque shapes  
then settling into black rotting flesh intertwined with veins of  
dirty white, as their clothing reverted to brown, musty cloak  
and hoods, for these were helghast, fell shapeshifting undead  
servants of the Darklord.   
  
A blue bolt of energy struck the waist of the closer assailant,  
but its groping hand found the arm of the mage, who  
screamed in pain as the touch of the fell being burned four  
oozing, bloodied holes into her arm, then the thing fell back  
as a shimmering shield was erected between the wounded  
undead and her own form.  
  
Behind her, one of the two warriors, obeying her orders, fled  
from the outpost, but the other drew his sword and sprang  
forward in a vain attempt to aid the lady.  
  
The mage was about to catch her breath when her mind  
exploded out into starbursts of pain under the psychic  
assault of the undead beings, and her shield dissipated away  
as her concentration gave out before the wave of agonising  
pain.  
  
Forgot... psychic assault... was the last thought to cross her  
mind before one undead hand clasped around her throat and  
snatched her life away as her flesh disintegrated before its  
deadly touch.  
  
"NO!" The warrior cried, as his blade bit into the brown hood  
of the already wounded undead creature, and stared as the  
blade passed cleanly through the creature as though it had  
struck nothing but thin air. A strong buffet of destructive  
mental energies from the helghast further behind struck him,  
and he reeled back from the pain, even as the injured  
helghast, finally feeling the effects of the plasma bolt,  
collapsed onto the body of the dead mage. As he staggered  
back, from the shadows of the darkness both of the inner  
recesses of the outpost and from his pain, he beheld a flash  
of black steel, and barely had the presence of mind to bat  
aside the deadly projectile aimed at his chest. Ere he could  
bring his sword back in time to defend himself, the creature  
hurled itself onto him, and he felt a chill fire sear into his  
chest, then all was darkness...  
  
Outside, the sole survivor from outpost was running back  
east, towards the next nearest outpost, when two crude flint  
arrows just missed him, one striking the ground behind his  
heel, the other missing his shoulder to strike the rocks about  
him. Looking back, he quickly saw the source of the attack -  
two orcish archers about seventy-five metres away from him,  
within the pass, likely from a scout troop. Rather than risk  
them killing him, he quickly snatched up the two flint arrows  
with one hand as the other unslung his bow from his  
shoulder, and in a flash, he had notched and fired them  
together.  
  
You may be crackshots among the orcs, but you can't  
compare to a Sentinel.  
  
Both arrows flew straight and true, and he nodded grimly as  
the two distant figures tumbled down, struck in the throats by  
their own projectiles.  
  
A lance of burning pain shot through his mind, and he nearly  
fell to his knees in surprise, then instinctively rolled away.  
Though the jagged edge of the rocks bit into his body and  
drew some blood, the crunch of a steel mace striking the  
ground where his head made him decide it was worthwhile.  
Rapidly drawing his sword as he got on his feet, he launched  
himself at the undead lieutenant, a vordak, effectively a  
skeleton wrapped in scarlet robes and hood that was blessed  
with some psychic abilities, though a far cry from the  
deadliness of the helghast.  
  
Within a few strokes, he had secured the upper hand against  
the creature, which was falling back, its psychic assaults  
weakening as it drew all its attention on preserving its own  
life, when a sudden, agonising pain streaked out from behind  
his back.   
  
The vordak leered a toothy grin under its red robes, as the  
scorpion tail of its wyvern mount left the hollow in the elf's  
back, who fell forward to ruin upon the dark stones, his  
lifeblood flowing out from behind him. The warrior writhed a  
little on the ground in front of the vordak, from the poison,  
before the finality of having his spine broken by the blow  
finally claimed his life.  
  
The armies of darkness, assured that the coast was clear,  
continued its careful advance, that of a tactical spearhead  
that headed up the Durncrags, and aiming eventually to reach  
unto Jurai itself.  
  
====================================  
  
Rather than being a citadel, a hall, or even a building at all, the  
Nexus of the elves has never been marked in any way. It was  
merely a place, a gathering point, and to one who knew no  
better, merely another series of large clump of trees, or  
another long dot of clearings. It was in the open, under the  
blue skies, that the elves celebrated and made merry, leaping  
casually from the crown of trees into clearings and climbing  
back up again. In normal times, during the course of ruling  
and administering, the powerful magic of the Elvish Prelates  
rendered this place sanctified, and none could pass freely  
through save those whose presence were warranted, but for  
the Feast of Fealty, all and any elves of any cadre, and in fact  
even the uninitiated, were free to stroll in and to take part in  
the celebrations, to raise up issues for debate and joke along  
side their wiser, mightier elder brethren, and all were arrayed  
in that standard Lincoln green garb of elves, regardless of  
rank and position of power.  
  
"Mead, please!" A ringing voice of an Elite bade, and  
Hisamura good humouredly complied. It made him feel good  
to be humble, to be reminded that for all the power he  
wielded, he was ultimately just another elf, and lived off the  
simple fare of water and vegetation for most part, even if for  
the Feast it would be mead instead of water.  
  
"A toast, to the Prelates, one and all!" One of the  
Mage-Sentinels called, unaware one of them was sitting right  
opposite him. All the elvish lords at the table in the clearing  
grinned as they saw Hisamura smile sheepishly, then  
followed in the toast to himself before the table all drank to his  
health.  
  
"I say, Hisamura," asked one of the elvish lords. "How is your  
granddaughter doing?"  
  
"Her?" He exclaimed. "Oh she's doing well enough for her  
age, but seriously by me, it'd be a wonder if she could get  
anywhere!"  
  
"Oh really?" laughed another. "It must take some work at  
blundering to be able to not get anywhere with you as her  
grandfather..."  
  
"Rubbish! You know we aren't allowed to intervene..."  
  
Magelord Jemera frowned as she thought about this. "Wait a  
minute... Hisamura Kuramitsu... Kuramitsu..." Her eyes  
widened. "Surely not!?"  
  
"Surely not what?" he asked her.  
  
"MIHOSHI!?" She stood up, her glass thumping down on the  
table.  
  
"Well, I have every reason to believe she is my  
granddaughter, oh yes indeed." Hisamura took another sip at  
his cup. "Do tell me how she has been getting along."  
  
"She's a walking natural disaster! She's already got three of  
my best Mentoras sent to the infirmary already, and she's  
blown up me in my favourite dress because I simply just  
happened to pass through the room *next* to the one where  
she was learning Firebolt!"  
  
"Ah yes..." Hisamura smiled. "My darling granddaughter...  
always one for experimenting." He picked up the Magelord's  
almost empty cup, filled it with mead, and offered it back to  
her. "But she never means any harm, really. A more sweet  
natured child you'll never find."  
  
"Never mind her nature! I can't imagine if she REALLY wanted  
to cause damage..."  
  
Another elf came running up to the table, having jumped out  
of some tree somewhere. "Did someone say something about  
Mihoshi?"   
  
"I did," the Magelord growled. A quick glance at him told her  
he was not one of them who were allowed in the Nexus from  
time to time, then she noticed the cup being offered to her by  
the Prelate, graciously accepted and took in a mouthful.  
  
"What about Mihoshi?" the newcomer asked.  
  
"She's my granddaughter," Hisamura smiled genially at him.  
"Take a seat please."  
  
"No thanks," the elf declined graciously. "I am so honoured  
to meet you good sir! Your granddaughter is splendid,  
wonderful, and one of the most gifted pupils I have ever  
seen!!"  
  
There was a gasping sound from the Magelord, that quickly  
turned into a choking sound, a testimony to the futility of  
trying to vociferate vehemently while in the act of swallowing  
anything.  
  
"Oh, how so?" Hisamura asked, as a spectral hand  
materialised behind the coughing Magelord and started  
thumping her back hard.  
  
"Oh yes! In over thirty years of overseering the  
Warrior-Sentinels graduation I have NEVER been spotted,  
and she put the three arrows right around my head!"  
  
Hisamura arched an eyebrow. He remembered his tests all  
right, and he never even remembered noticing the overseers  
were present from in his Warrior-Sentinel days. "You're... a  
very lucky elf."  
  
"Ah well, just to let you know!" The overseer smiled. "From  
what she did, I'd recommend her very highly for the Elite!"  
  
"Thank you," Hisamura laughed at him, then turned to  
Jemera, whose round of coughing had just ended as she  
expelled the final vestiges of the drink from her windpipe. "I  
shall bear your words in mind..." He made a mental note to  
ask Kiyone, who he understood, from occasional reports and  
visits from his granddaughter, knew her very well.  
  
Elsewhere, leaning on a tree, Prelate Cyriador laughed to  
herself, as she spotted several young female  
Warrior-Sentinels, or so she guessed, trying to hem in  
Archmage Tonshiro, whom they probably thought was some  
youthful elf. One of the oddities of being an elf was that they  
were almost eternally youthful, up to the last twenty years of  
their potentially four century long life, and it took skill, even  
among elves, to discern their true age. The distraught  
archmage was trying to look around frantically for his wife, a  
member of the Elite, to rescue him from their attentions, but  
Cyriador suspected the lady was involved in some rather  
engrossing conversation with some of her old friends from  
the lower cadres. Her own husband was probably elsewhere  
too enjoying himself, but the elves set great store by  
matrimonial fidelity, so she was not worried by his absence.  
Today was really too good a chance to miss socialising.  
  
"Excuse me, miss?"  
  
She turned around and found herself staring into the face of a  
male elf. It was difficult to estimate the age, except by using  
magic, which was generally forbidden, out of courtesy, on  
such an occasion, but she noted his still unworn hands and  
the way his eyes seemed still to shine with a youthful lustre.  
She did not recognise his face, and that meant this person  
was not either of the Elite or of the greater Magi, else she  
would have recognised him. Most elves that frequented the  
Nexus were gifted with extreme mental faculties, and  
remembering faces was something that came naturally to  
most, if not all, of them.  
  
"Yes, my lord?" she asked, masking her smile by taking a tiny  
sip of mead from her glass goblet. "And which lord might I  
have the pleasure of addressing?"  
  
"I... err...," for a moment she saw indecision and the strings of  
conscience flicker over the elf's face, then apparently he  
decided her beauty was too good a thing to be passed up.  
"Oh, I can see from your face that you are new here... an  
initiate?"  
  
"Yes..." She let herself be overawed by him, her hands  
twisting her gown nervously. "And you are ...?"  
  
"My name is Kerandier, and..." He searched desperately.  
  
"You're a...?"  
  
"Well, if you really must know..." He licked his lips. "I'm just a  
Magelord..."  
  
Utter rubbish, she thought, a part of her riling up in disgust.  
Integrity was important to the elves, and she frowned that he  
would lie simply to impress another elf, but something in her  
was also pleased at the realisation that he thought her beauty  
worth the while to put his integrity on hold, as well as the idea  
he did not spin a yarn as ridiculous as assuming himself as  
an Archmage or higher.  
  
"Well, lord..." she bowed low. "If you would be so kind, would  
you take the hand of this lowly one and show me the sights of  
this place?"  
  
"Oh sure, of course! I see this place everyday, know it inside  
out, I do..." He took her hand.  
  
Nonsense. Only us Prelates are allowed in here everyday.  
Magelords hardly ever step in here, except maybe once in two  
months.  
  
"Cyriador would be honoured, my lord," she sighed,  
sounding close to swooning. "Once a year is too little to  
appreciate this place..."  
  
I wonder...   
  
An elf sets very much by integrity, especially when it comes  
to choosing a life-long mate. Generally these are chosen with  
alacrity, and both parties concerned are frank and open with  
each other, especially about lifespan together, before they  
consummate their union.   
  
Let's see how far he will stoop...  
  
Gently, almost indiscernably, as they chatted together,  
passing through groups, with him pointing out to her all sorts  
of people, using a plethora of imaginary names, she gently  
steered him towards a leafy, secret, private place, built for the  
privacy of the Prelates. There were about nine scattered  
across the Nexus, plus three secret ones which were known  
only to the Prelate whose living quarters it served as, and to  
his or her spouse.   
  
"Uh, where are you going?" he asked, as he found  
themselves approaching a rather deserted empty spot. She  
let herself shriek with pleasure at stumbling upon the  
entrance to the well concealed place within a clump of trees,  
and begged him to accompany her in.  
  
Eventually they came to a comfy bower, where they settled  
down. She let him lead the conversation for a while, then,  
setting down her goblet, suddenly sprang a question.  
  
"Lord Kerandier...?" she asked, her voice trembling.   
  
"Kerandier will do," he said, genially, his eyes still wandering  
about the bower as he took in the wonder of its construction  
and secrecy.  
  
"I was wondering if... you are married, my lord?"  
  
The elf blinked, and turned to stare at her. Above them the  
leafy cover let only the barest rays of the noon sun through  
into the bower. "Erm, no..." he answered, his voice trembling.  
"Why... why... do you ..." he paused here to swallow. "...ask?"  
  
She gave him a sweet, almost idolising smile. "I was  
wondering... if we could...?" She stepped closer to him, and  
let her robes slide off slightly to bare her shoulders  
somewhat.  
  
He gaped, gasped for a bit, then his mind scrabbled onto a  
mental foothold. "I... I am too old... I'd die first..." Sweat  
beaded on his brow.  
  
"Well, I don't care. I just want to be your wife, for as long as  
you live..." She was right beside him, and her hand gently  
guided his to her, and she watched as his mind trembled  
under the pressure of pleasure, yet also guilt and  
desperation.  
  
At least he knows some pain...  
  
Kerandier snatched his hand back. "No... I can't..."  
  
"But why?" She let her body press close to his, her hands  
gently caressing him. "Why can't you...?"  
  
Kerandier moved away, and for a moment she thought she  
saw desperate fire dance in his eyes... then he broke down  
before her, and his head bowed as he spewed out his senses.  
"I... I can't... Cyriador, I'm not a Magelord, I'm a nobody... I'm  
just a Mage-Sentinel in training, fresh out from being a  
Warrior..."  
  
"Well, Kerandier..."   
  
He looked up and stared, the shame on his face changing to  
surprise, at her solemn and commanding voice, no longer the  
playful one he had heard for such a while. Cyriador stared  
down at him, her green eyes glowing bright, her voice laced  
with anger. "Cyria...?"  
  
"You have lied, but I forgive you, as Tsunami will still bless  
you in your ignorance. Although you have surrendered your  
integrity, it is good to know that it is not complete, that you  
would not take advantage of another, even if you did lie."  
Though she spoke of forgiveness, the fire of anger still  
burned in her eyes, and he found her gaze so piercing he  
would have cried out, except it seemed to transfix his mind in  
paralysis. "There is hope for you still, but know this... I will be  
watching."  
  
Turning her back on the astonished elf, she was about to  
leave for the exit when a figure appeared up before her.  
  
"Why, this is a surprise!" She exclaimed, her eyes darting  
swiftly to take in the sword in the elf's hand, and even in the  
verdant darkness, she could make out several glistening  
droplets of sweat on his hands and his head. "I don't often  
see you engaged in this much activity." She pointed out to  
the elf before her, who laughed.  
  
"Ah, I would that I did," the fellow smiled, and did not see  
Kerandier in the background, sitting there, still staring  
stunned at her back. "I have a confession to make - it seems I  
have been slipping recently."   
  
"Oh, have you? I haven't seen you touch a sword for a long  
time..."  
  
"True, to my regret..." the elf answered jovially, yet somehow  
nervously. "Would you believe just now I was beaten by one  
of the Elite!"  
  
Cyriador gasped. "You've got to be joking, my dear!"  
  
"No joke, no joke at all," he shook his head, somehow  
seeming at once sad and good natured. "I was beaten, fair  
and square..."  
  
Cyriador looked at his one keen blade, shining in the  
darkness. "Wait... *one* blade!?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh  
come on, whoever the person was, he or she must have been  
using two swords, right?"  
  
"Well, and what about that?" he laughed weakly. "It's a loss  
still."  
  
"Velathius, you never change." She shook her head, amused.  
The eldest of them still always insisted on winning as much  
as possible, and was a perfectionist, which made him a busy  
elf, one of the reasons he hardly touched a sword nowadays.  
But then again nor did herself and Hisamura. "At least this will  
take some wind out of your sails..."  
  
"Heh, thanks," he replied drily. "Well, I'll be seeing you..."  
  
He stepped aside for her, and as she nodded to go pass him,  
he saw the elf behind. "My oh my oh my!? Who is this!?" He  
laughed, and Cyriador halted. "Well, I'll be! What will Lotharel  
be saying?"  
  
"Nothing," Cyriador replied confidently. "You know I wouldn't  
let my husband down, and I know you won't say anything  
about this..."  
  
"Yes, of course I wouldn't, we've both been working together  
for too long..." He smiled at the nervous Kerandier. "And who  
are you, my boy? What's the name of this fine lad I see before  
me, who has the great honour of being graced enough and  
be brought by our Prelate Cyriador into one of our bowers?"  
  
*PRELATE*!?  
  
Kerandier's jaw dropped, and he was too bewildered to  
speak.  
  
"Don't bother him too much, Velathius... Let's get going  
Kerandier." She called. Dumbly, he walked to her, his mind  
still reeling as he thought before him stood two of the three  
rulers of the Edwyn. "Remember, boy, you still have to some  
work to do outside this place, so you better hurry on."  
  
He felt a bittersweet taste in his mouth, as he realised that  
although not disgracing him before the other Prelate, she was  
also ordering him to leave the Nexus...   
  
As they stepped back into the more inhabited parts of the  
forest, Cyriador nodded at him, her eyes flashing with muted  
anger and imperiousness, her lips pressed into a stern  
warning line of chastisement, then he found he was running,  
running out of the Nexus...   
  
As Kerandier's receding figure vanished, she turned her  
attention elsewhere.   
  
====================================  
  
The birds scattered, hastily winging their way into the air, and  
the squirrels and other little animals were roused from their  
rests to be sent fleeing into the undergrowth as the sharp,  
discordant ringing sounds of steel rang through the air,  
swiftly and consecutively, and might have sounded more like  
a continuous rattling of swords with scabbards except for the  
varying pitches and volumes of the sound.  
  
"Well, Tenchi." Ryoko's throaty voice was heard from amidst  
the clashing of metal. "How's this for warming up?"  
  
Tenchi gulped, as the shafts of light piercing through the  
forest canopy flashed against the swiftly moving blurs that  
were their weapons. "Ryoko, you *know* I don't want to fight  
you!"  
  
"Oh really?" She laughed, as their light boots moved almost  
soundlessly across the forest floor, their steps light and  
quick, just like the dance of their blades. "I can see you like  
this." She gave him a sudden swift jab, and he stepped back,  
his sword arcing up defensively in a slide parry. "I can see  
your face, see your eyes, see your sweat." Tenchi brought his  
parry up in a curling sweep to her chest, Ryoko parried it, and  
he could see her face, between the outline of the two  
thin-bladed swords, and he shivered as he saw her rosy lips  
part, and her tongue gently move to run over their surface  
seductively. "It's nice to know I can make you sweat."  
  
Tenchi smiled nervously at that comment...  
  
Is she saying that for fun? Or does she really know that much  
about *that* kind of thing?  
  
Deftly and swiftly twisting and circling her blade higher, she  
slid Tenchi's blade away, then suddenly she thrust forward, a  
crooked smile on her face.  
  
Tenchi blinked, the image of her licking her lips not having  
faded away completely, and his sword weaved around and  
down through the air as he shifted slightly, but then as he  
watched her smile form, a pulse of pain suddenly erupted  
from within his skull.  
  
Oh no!  
  
His hastily constructed Mindshield from earlier, having been  
neglected as Ryoko had slackened her psychic assaults, now  
buckled under the fresh new burst of mental forces directed  
against it, and much of Tenchi's world became blurred with a  
slight cast of red as he tottered back, gritting his teeth and  
just barely managing to sustain a marginally credible defence.  
  
"You'll have to do better than that, schoolboy..." Ryoko  
laughed, as her sword nearly sent his spinning away, even as  
his Mindshield knitted itself together once more. Darting away  
from a savage swipe to his side that turned into a vicious jab,  
Tenchi thrust forward with his blade as his psychic defences  
reemerged into play, only to find Ryoko had ceased her  
mental assault almost exactly one second before.  
  
"Huh? How did you know I'd...?"  
  
"Oh please, Tenchi!" Ryoko laughed, lightly swivelling her  
body aside away from his thrust to press home another  
attack. "The problem with you is..." Tenchi, seeing the  
oncoming blade, was forced to roll diagonally backwards.  
"...you're too predictable." As her weapon swept over his  
back and Tenchi got to his feet, Ryoko casually stuck a foot  
out in his way.  
  
"Whoaaa!" Tenchi cried as he tripped and nearly lost his  
balance, forcing Ryoko to almost throw herself to the side as  
he sought to regain equilibrium by executing a wild, full arm  
swing to the side.  
  
Ryoko blinked as the tip of his sword just swept by before her  
face, and the feel of the biting wind of passage from its keen  
edge sent a tingle of thrill and fear creeping up her spine, but  
in this case her opponent being Tenchi, it was the side of  
alarm and fear that won out.   
  
"HEY! What if I had been hit by that!?" She cried out,  
launching herself on Tenchi, a whirlwind of cyan, sky blue  
and steel.  
  
"I don't know!" Tenchi barely got out a word amidst Ryoko's  
rapid assault. "Would it have killed you?" He might have  
trembled at the thought except that his current occupation  
involved trying to get back on his feet and balance himself,  
not withstanding the succession of blows sent against him.  
  
"If you ever give me a scar across my face, you'll be sorry!"  
  
Tenchi blinked.  
  
Sheesh, talk about weird... here I am all worried about our  
fighting, trying to recover from my fall and not accidentally kill  
her while she's going on about her potential cosmetic  
defects.  
  
"Look, if I had my way, I wouldn't be fighting a vicious  
monster like you!" Tenchi retorted, then his eyes bulged wide  
open as he heard his own words.  
  
Wait a minute! That didn't come out right!  
  
He blinked. There seemed to be something here, like  
someone else who was himself, yet at the same time not him,  
had taken over his tongue...  
  
"What do you mean, monster!?" Ryoko shrieked, and Tenchi  
fell back as her assault intensified greatly, his steps literally  
making him seem to be flying back.  
  
Man this is creepy, I thought I almost heard that before I heard  
it... wait a minute, did that thought make sense?  
  
The flash of Ryoko's blade before his brought his senses  
reeling back, and the next moment he felt an impact, then  
wood splintered against his back...  
  
"Ooomph!" He exclaimed as the breath was pushed out of his  
body, and Ryoko blinked as she saw him bounce forwards  
against her from the impact, but nevertheless his sword  
strokes were yet swift and suddenly set on the offensive,  
more out of coincidence than by design, so that it took her by  
surprise, and her stroke, aimed to slice into his side, curled  
back in defence to parry the blow to her forearm.  
Unfortunately what Tenchi's blade gained in speed was offset  
by the loss of balance, momentum and grip from its wielder...  
  
A clang of steel, ringing with finality, a bright flash,  
accentuated by the glitter of the raindrops and the odd ray of  
light...   
  
====================================  
  
A good while before...  
  
Magelord-Sentinel Clay watched as the elvish survivor drank  
a cup of tea to soothe his nerves, and sat back in his chair.  
  
Clay was an elf, but only technically so. His mother had been  
raped by a human criminal, and his birth had been consented  
to due to the reverence the elves held for life. Although in  
name an elf, and having only ever lived with elves, Clay did  
not look at all like one of them. Dark skin, crooked eyes, even  
the wrinkled skin of his forehead and his greying hair showed  
the longevity of the elves had chose to pass him by. Rather  
than being tall and well built, he was squat and somewhat fat,  
and where elves grew no facial hair, his long and bushy  
beard was combed into part of a rather silly looking octopus  
like form about his head, which also incorporated his coarse  
hair behind his head. Where elves were graceful and fleet of  
foot even in rough terrain and the undergrowth, Clay found  
himself tripping over the occasional root and himself held  
little reverence for life or appreciation for the beauty of things  
about him. Instead his mind was mechanical and machine  
like, with little empathy and time for anything but his current  
pursuit, which was generally that of power.  
  
Since young he had pursued power, and after accepted as a  
greater Mage-Sentinel, had risen to the position of Magelord  
within the cadre, to become one of the more powerful within  
the upper echelons within. He was personally chagrined, for  
despite numerous petitions, he had never been accepted into  
the ranks of the Elvish Elite, nor had he been elevated to the  
pinnacle of the Mage-Sentinels, the Archmages. This was  
understandable too, for the elves sensed here was a persona  
different from theirs and with different interests, so they  
decided it would be unwise to let him control too much.  
Besides, his fighting performance was too poor to be  
considered for the ranks of the Elite anyway.   
  
Nevertheless, Magelord was a rather high post, and apart  
from acknowledging his interests were different, the elves  
had little doubt of his loyalty to their cause. A grievous  
mistake, it seems.  
  
He continued watching as the form of the elf seated opposite  
him slumped against the back of the chair, seemingly in  
repose, seemingly in an attempt to recover one's breath after  
the tumultuous events that had taken place. Only an acute  
observer would have noted the faintest trickle of blood from  
the corner of his nose, courtesy of the host of this arbor  
lodge.  
  
The arbor lodges were within the forest of Edwyn itself.  
Cunningly camouflaged among the greenery, the elves used  
these places as a communication centre from the outposts,  
which would then serve to rapidly alert the entire forest, and  
from there the whole of the vicinity, in this case Jurai. Each  
lodge coordinated a certain stretch of outposts, and this  
particular one coordinated the five outposts that marked the  
passage from the centre of the range of the Durncrag  
mountains straight into the heart of Edwyn itself. There were  
four other lodges, covering from the north to the south of the  
Durncrag range and the forests, each with their own set of  
five outposts, but this was the central one...  
  
Getting to his feet, Clay dragged the body off the chair and to  
the back of the dwelling, where it joined three other bodies,  
two of surviving elves making their reports of enemy  
presence, and the last one of the unfortunate magelord who  
was supposed to be in charge of this place, killed by a dagger  
in his back. Normally there were more elves at the outposts  
and the lodges, but today was special, it was the Feast of  
Fealty...  
  
Clay had barely sat down again when another sound was  
heard from the door to the lodge...  
  
"Ah, at last..." He murmured, as he heard the seven sharp  
continuous raps, but he didn't lower his guard. It would be  
foolish to completely trust the ones he dealt with.   
  
Outside, the thin, skeletal figure robed in scarlet nodded  
approvingly as the door opened, to reveal the half-elf, robed  
in dark green, almost black, with the shimmer of blue before  
him, a potent shield against physical, mental and magical  
assaults. Clay looked as the skeletal finger pointed out at a  
wyvern behind it, just over ten metres from snout to tail, its  
scorpion tail behind it lying up flat on the ground, while its  
two clawed feet were obscured by the huge batwings  
lowered to touch the ground.  
  
"No." Clay replied to the vordak. "I said before, no sting."  
  
It's cowl shifted sideways, left and then right.  
  
"You will obey me." Clay answered, his voice gruff and  
arrogant. "Or you will die."  
  
The undead lieutenant obstinately shook its head, and Clay  
furrowed his brow.  
  
The vordak, sensing danger, desperately swung its steel  
mace and hurled a mental assault, but they bashed uselessly  
against the wizard's arcane barrier. Clay gave a thin, cruel  
smile before the a blaze of yellow arced from his fingers to  
strike the undead beast, to a slight tolling of bells. The  
creature gave a shriek and a convulsive shudder as the glow  
of red within the cowl of the robes vanished, then the crimson  
robes fell into an empty heap before the magelord.  
  
Clay cast his eye around warily. Except for the wyvern, still  
looking at him in cowed obedience rather than malevolence,  
the forest seemed no different from usual...  
  
There is something around here, somewhere...  
  
His eyes glowed from brown to green as he enhanced his  
vision and searched the area for concentrations of energy.  
There was one, a wraith like shadow close by, and the  
energies were drawing close together, binding rapidly to form  
the shape...  
  
"Salutations," a low, deep voice rang out, with traces of  
mocking disdain within it. Clay did not reply, and his eyes  
narrowed as they focused on figure that had coalesced out of  
the faint wisps of dark energies.  
  
Clad in robes black as the night itself, this man stood tall and  
forbidding, his striking hazel eyes cold, chill and mirthless.  
Long spikes of hair, the colour making them seemingly  
matted with dried blood, ran down from his head, and though  
his face was rounded, it was gaunt and somewhat  
cadaverous, while its base ended in a bony sharp chin that  
seemed almost out of place, from which a short, pointed  
goatee, the same colour as the rest of his hair, ran down.  
  
"A dark wizard, a wielder of left-hand magic," Clay murmured.  
"A Nadziranim."  
  
"Serajadeyn is what you will call me, magelord Clay."  
  
Clay's forehead furrowed as he heard the disdain in the  
phrase "magelord Clay", and the black robed man casually  
turned and walked towards the wyvern, not in the least  
worried about Clay's presence close by. Despite being a  
warlock, the man was tall and well built, and his broad  
shoulders would have easily passed him off as a warrior. As  
he stood motionless beside the wyvern, seemingly to be  
waiting, with his eyes, cold and supremely confident, bearing  
into Clay's own, Clay felt a trace of fear within him, for this  
man, if he were still truly one, exuded an aura of formidable  
power so great it was unlikely Clay's seventy odd years of  
arcane prowess could best it.  
  
"What are you here for?" Clay called again, his voice calm  
and deep, with a trace of suspicion, and letting no hint of the  
fear that the Magelord felt escape.  
  
"A mount you wish," there was a swift movement, a brief  
streak of midnight energies, and the wyvern gave a bellow of  
pain as half its tail was lopped off by the beam from wizard's  
fingers. Normally it would have thrashed about wildly, but  
being in the presence of an elvish magelord, wary and  
powerful, and a Nadziranim, who had just demonstrated he  
owed no allegiance to the wyvern, even the dense depths of  
the creature's tiny brain found it within them to hold still and  
be discreet. "A mount you have."  
  
Clay's foot prodded the slightly smoking remains of the fallen  
vordak before him. "What was the meaning of this, then?"  
  
"A test," the dark mage smiled. "Few minions of our Darklord  
survive for long without learning when and where to show  
their power."  
  
Clay nodded. "Very well, then. If you have been sent to kill  
me, you might have done so already." He stepped out to the  
wyvern, and the man stepped away from him, his eyes  
gleaming cold, but with a certain kind of glee.  
  
"No, I have not been sent to kill you. Quite the opposite, in  
fact..." The wizard drew his hood up over his head,  
shadowing his features in darkness again, as Clay gingerly  
mounted the wyvern, still trembling from the pain. As he held  
on tight to the reins of the best, and sat his squat fat form as  
best as he could in the seat, the creature rose into the air, and  
his heartbeat started to speed up as he rose up from above  
the crown of the forest, then the crown of the trees became  
indiscernible, and soon he was almost a hundred metres high  
in the sky, and heading away from the Edwyn, back west over  
the Durncrags.   
  
His eyes widened as he saw, hovering at various heights in  
the air, at least several hundred black flapping shapes, like a  
cloud of darkness over the land, and below them, the grey  
and white of the Durncrags were obscured by the milling  
press of perhaps several tens of thousands of  
black-armoured and dirty-green bodies. The latter were those  
of the Orcish hordes, and the former those of the Drakkarim,  
corrupted, brutal, barbaric warrior knights of the Darkland  
armies, some even mounted on horses that had been led up  
through the pass in the Durncrags. Further behind the horde,  
crude orcish siege engines moved along, and, somewhere  
within the armies too, helghast gathered for their various  
specialised missions, while the crimson-robed vordaks,  
airborne in the sky and astride their wyvern mounts, oversaw  
the operations, along with the occasional black robed  
Nadziranim.  
  
He watched as he and his mount flew, unchallenged, past the  
fleet of wyverns, towards the centre of the aerial fleet of the  
Darklord's army. There, in the heart of the dark army, he  
beheld three awesome, magnificent midnight beasts with  
obsidian scales, and jet eyes - dragons, the reptillian rulers of  
the skies and inhabitants of the Darklands, subjugated by the  
might of the Darklord. The two of these great beasts that  
flanked the centre were close to thirty metres from snout to  
tail, and acrid smoke curled out from their nostrils and their  
maws, as they bade their time, waiting to cover the land in the  
flames of war. The creature in between them was significantly  
bigger, almost forty metres in length, and the jet eyes shone  
with the red light of a cruel and sinister sentience. Astride its  
back, in the hollow between the wings of the drake, a single  
throne of jet was mounted, and within, reclined the waiting  
figure, almost leisurely resting in the throne.  
  
Clay's eyes opened wide as the wyvern flew them nearer to  
the dragons. "Darklord Kagato?" he murmured, as his mount  
came to a stop before the centre dragon.  
  
The figure in the throne stirred, and looked up with a warm,  
almost cheerful looking smile. "Oh, it's you..." Somehow the  
smile, though pleasant, sent a chill of cold fear down Clay's  
spine, and his mind struggled desperately to link up the being  
before his eyes with the knowledge that he was looking at the  
one of the most powerful, almost legendary, champions of the  
Goddess Tokimi.  
  
Darklord Kagato didn't look at all like what Clay had imagined,  
and outwardly even the Nadziranim sent to get Clay looked  
more sinister to his eyes. Kagato looked comfortable, almost  
human, reclining in his sable throne, his hands resting easily  
on the handles to either side of him. But for his pale, just  
faintly greyish, faintly beige skin, and his prodigious height,  
which Clay estimated at about two and half metres, he would  
easily have passed off as a human. His hair was a grey  
marginally darker than his skin, with no tinge of beige at all,  
and was neatly flowing over the top of his head to come  
down in two long side burns before his ears, while the rest  
behind flowed down to perhaps about the centre of his chest.  
A pair of modest, almost laughably so, narrowly set  
dark-tinted spectacles were perched on his nose before his  
golden eyes with red pupils, and the rest of him was swathed  
in robes. Of these, a dark green cape was fastened behind  
him, while under it there was a cloak of lighter green over his  
shoulder that clearly outlined his shoulders. Beneath all of  
that he wore black robes with a purple running down the  
centre, with his hands ending in simple, unadorned white  
gloves.  
  
Clay was still gawking in astonishment as the person spoke,  
rather urbanely. "I must apologise, my dear Clay."  
  
Thus did the great and almighty Darklord, undisputed ruler of  
the Darklands for over a thousand years, leader of this vast  
army, speak next.  
  
Clay felt a cold chill seize his heart, and suddenly prostrated  
himself, knocking his head on the wyvern's back, before the  
relaxed and composed figure of the Darklord. "My lord!"  
  
"It is really quite miserable at times, my minions are  
hopelessly inept, it seems. Even with your information, they  
let three out of fifteen get away..." the figure rambled on.  
  
"They have been dealt with, my lord!" Clay found himself  
trembling with fear, though how or why, he knew not.  
  
"I see, that's most kind of you, my dear Clay," the genial,  
polite, accommodating, yet somehow chillingly detached  
voice continued. "Really sorry to be of inconvenience to  
you..."  
  
"I serve but you, my lord!"  
  
"I believe you originally sought to learn the mechanics of  
Left-hand magic," Kagato continued. It was with some  
astonishment Clay realised the Darklord was not actually  
speaking loudly, and he could hear the wingbeats and  
shrieking of the wyverns, the distant bustle of the army below  
him, and the loud breaths of the dragons, but somehow the  
voice surrounded him, got through to him, without any  
apparent effort at all. "Well, I have assigned a tutor for you,  
after all, it's the least I can do for your efforts. He is, I do  
believe, one of our more gifted Nadziranim, though he has  
many more years to reach his full potential. I thought teaching  
you might be an experience for him, as well as leading some  
of our operations."   
  
Clay looked up timorously, only to see, on another wyvern  
alongside his, a black robed mage. It was impossible to  
discern with plain eyes the features of the person within, but  
there was a cold yet gleeful gleam in the being's gaze, and  
power exuded from the being, so that Clay knew instantly  
who it was.  
  
"Serajadeyn," Kagato murmured, nicely again. "I'm sure this  
experience will prove beneficial both to you and our  
benefactor Clay."  
  
"Yes, indeed," Serajadeyn smiled, his eyes meeting Clay's.  
"Indeed it will."  
  
"For now, let's hear some counsel from both of you," Kagato  
spoke. There was something truly bloodcurdling in his  
civilised, urbane and gentlemanly gestures, and Clay found it  
hard to keep the goose bumps off his skin. "Well, we have  
three objectives here. One is to put the army through the  
Edwyn into Jurai itself, the other is to disable the Sentinels  
and their Prelates so they will no longer be a presence in our  
upcoming campaign, and the other is to eradicate the  
Monastery of the Cyr Lords of Tsunami, and we have to do it  
all by today, before the celebration is done..." He arched an  
eyebrow. "Appraisal of enemy forces, Clay?"  
  
"Well..." he pressed his lips uncertainly, as he realised his  
voice was quavering. "The Cyr Lords number about seven  
hundred, but on average are probably better skilled than a  
Drakkar or a vordak, and do very well in hand to hand  
fighting. Northern Edwyn is in our way, and if we attack the  
Sentinels first, the Cyr Lords may be alerted and scatter from  
the Monastery to lead armies of Jurai... I recommend we take  
out the Nexus and the Prelates, along with the Elvish Elite  
and the greater Mage-Sentinels, numbering about a thousand  
in all. The elves do well with projectiles too, but they are  
prone to disorder if the Nexus can be destroyed and the Elite  
decimated..." Clay fell silent.  
  
"My lord, perhaps splitting our forces, and sending our aerial  
troops to the Cyr Monastery, where being melee-based, the  
enemy would have difficulty engaging our forces, might save  
us some losses."  
  
Clay frowned at the Nadziranim. "Pardon, but my kindr... I  
mean, the elves are more dangerous than you give them  
credit for. We must find a way to destroy the Prelates, the  
Elite, and the greater Mage-Sentinels before they assume  
their commanding posts..." Clay suddenly fell silent as he felt  
a force settle down over the conversation, as if crushing their  
will to speak out of them.  
  
Kagato lowered his hand. "It seems the two of you will be  
leading this aerial fleet, armed with black crystal cubes, to the  
Cyr Monastery. Half of the helghast will go with you, as  
infiltrators, while the vordaks they replace will be posted on  
the ground, as well as the Tukodak Horselords, the elite  
Drakkarim, who will surge past the elves and surround the  
terrain near the Monastery to pick out stragglers as my  
remaining ground troops engage the elves..." He smiled a  
little as he watched Clay's worried face. "Don't worry. The  
Prelates and the Elite will be taken care of, then we can storm  
through... And as the Horselords arrive I expect the attack on  
the Monastery to commence."  
  
"Very well, my lord." Serajadeyn nodded. "The dragons?"  
  
"Jekarnos and Demara here will follow you." He gestured at  
the two drakes on either side of him. "They will follow your  
orders."  
  
"Thank you, my lord!" They both bowed.  
  
"Don't mention it," Kagato laughed. "Shardraxa here will be  
my sole air support for the elves." Then his voice became  
softer again, as he saw Serajadeyn and Clay cast suspicious  
glances at each other, but the cordiality remained. "Oh, and  
do please refrain from arguing, please? It can get very  
confusing at times. One more thing, Serajadeyn, please note  
that I do expect our dearest guest Clay to know a significant  
part of Nadziranim magic, and have his life preserved. His  
knowledge will be helpful, especially when it comes to  
learning where the Nexus is..."  
  
====================================  
  
"Wake up... wake up...!" Kiyone cursed, splashing the water  
from the brook onto Mihoshi's face. What made it worse was  
the sound of mirth and cheerful celebrations throughout  
Edwyn, while she was stuck here at the very eastern edge of  
the forest.  
  
Those who knew anything about magic and Mihoshi were  
definitely in the right when they deigned it fit that Mihoshi try  
to learn it on the edge of the forest. Kiyone would have liked  
very much to believe the same people who had selected this  
place had faith in her patience and forbearance as well as  
mastery of magic, but a cynical side to her told her they were  
probably more fearful of her mastery and were hoping by  
some freak accident she'd be turned into a frog, or worse.  
Even for an elf, Kiyone had a rather practical and eminently  
pragmatic mind.  
  
It must be Mihoshi, she thought. I think like that to balance off  
for her.  
  
"WAKE UP!" She screamed. Getting to her feet, she quickly  
did a mental check to assure herself that Mihoshi had been  
properly healed and could take this, before viciously  
administering a sharp kick into the blonde's side. "MIHOSHI!"  
  
"Uuuhhh..." The blonde lolled over onto her stomach, some  
and Kiyone snarled in frustration.  
  
"Get up, you!" Kiyone bent down and gripped Mihoshi's robe  
collar. "NOW!"  
  
The blonde curls shifted back, recoiling from Kiyone's wrath,  
but apart from that Mihoshi seemed relatively unchanged.  
  
"AARGH!!"  
  
Kiyone wasn't sure how she did it, but she guess she must  
have managed somehow, though exactly how, she had no  
idea, as eventually Mihoshi began to really wake up...  
  
"Ow..." Mihoshi rubbed her sore body. "It hurts..."  
  
Kiyone rolled her eyes. Her own body hurt too, especially her  
throat, and she felt drained both from tending to Mihoshi's  
minor abrasions, and carrying Mihoshi to this stream.  
  
Mihoshi looked around, blue eyes looking blankly around.  
"Uh... how did we get here?" Maybe the relative sparseness  
forest was her own imagination, but the brook that was by her  
side had certainly not been there when Kiyone and her had  
been in the clearing. She turned to stare at Kiyone. "What  
happened?"  
  
Kiyone grit her teeth hard together. "You cast a spell."  
  
"Oh, I DID!?" Mihoshi's eyes widened into two round orbs of  
pleasant surprise. "I did!?"  
  
Kiyone nodded, glumly. "Yes you did..."  
  
"Yay!! Wow!" The blonde laughed and jumped for joy. "Yes! I  
can cast a spell!"   
  
There was a sigh. "Cast the wrong spell..."  
  
The jubilant lady was too exuberant to notice, and whooped  
happily again, golden curls bouncing in the sunlight. "I'm a  
proper mage now! I can..."  
  
"I *said*," Kiyone emphasised pointedly. "It was the *wrong*  
spell."  
  
"Wow! Won't grandpa be happy!?" Mihoshi chuckled. "He'll  
be so proud and..."  
  
"MIHOSHI!" Kiyone burst out in exasperation. "YOU CAST  
THE *WRONG* SPELL!"  
  
"Huh?" The blonde froze, looking at her in confusion.  
  
"Wrong! Wrong spell!" The dark green haired elf tossed her  
hands up helplessly. "Wrong, you got that? WRONG!"  
  
"Oh!" Mihoshi smiled nervously. "So... what did I do?"  
  
Kiyone blinked in surprise.  
  
Yes indeed, how in Tsunami's name *does* she do it!?  
Managing to change, quite by accident, a simple shielding  
spell into an Explosion spell she hasn't even learnt about  
yet?  
  
"How many times do I *have* to tell you that it is 'sarandakas',  
NOT 'darenzakas'!?" Kiyone growled again. "Not to mention  
all the mistakes you made along the way, I can't even  
remember!"  
  
"I'm sorry Kiyone..." Mihoshi twisted her robe with her hands  
nervously. "Uh... so what happened?"  
  
"You blew us up! Both of us!"  
  
"Oh," Mihoshi looked innocently around. "This doesn't look  
like heaven..."  
  
"It's NOT heaven you dimwit! It's just the side of the forest!"  
  
"Uh... oh. I see." Mihoshi brought a finger up to her lip. "So...  
what should we be doing now?"  
  
Kiyone rolled her eyes. "Be getting on with the lesson! I'm still  
supposed to teach you mind shielding and... may Tsunami  
bless me... firebolt." She felt like crying. Three spells... three  
miserably elementary spells to teach before she could go  
enjoy the Feast, and here she was with half the day over and  
nothing taught yet.  
  
"Oooh," Mihoshi exclaimed, as she prepared to get up. "Ow...  
I hurt..."  
  
Kiyone reached over to help Mihoshi up, and as the blonde  
lurched unsteadily to her feet, something came off...  
  
"Huh?" Mihoshi exlaimed as something around her neck  
slipped off. "Oh!" she watched as the shiny metal object,  
apparently some kind of metal cut into the shape of an oak  
leaf, tumbled down to the ground, the noon sun glinting off its  
edges.  
  
Kiyone watched, bemused in a just barely vindictive manner,  
and since Mihoshi was not doing anything as the thing  
tumbled, she assumed it was not important, and continued  
her passive observation as the leaf amulet just slipped over  
the edge of a little pebble and plopped into the brook, then  
disappeared from sight following several babbles of the  
water.   
  
"NO!" Mihoshi cried suddenly, as if stunned out of her  
dumbfounded state.  
  
"Huh!?" Kiyone said. "Hey, you mean that was important!?"  
  
"Important? Yes of course it is... I think. Grandpa gave me that  
just yesterday, he said it was a keepsake from my mom and  
would protect me and help me and... Ow!" Mihoshi cried as in  
her hurry she slipped over a pebble, and nearly twisted her  
ankle, except that Kiyone just managed to catch her before  
she too fell into the brook, not that the tiny stream of water  
could actually carry her away. "I have to get that back!"  
  
Kiyone gaped, as Mihoshi doggedly made off following the  
flow of the brook towards the east. "If it's so important why  
didn't you catch it earlier...!?" She cursed, following after  
Mihoshi.  
  
Just great... and her grandfather's a Prelate, no less. You're in  
hot soup now, Kiyone, you are...  
  
"I don't know, I just didn't." Mihoshi broke out into a run. "It  
looked kinda nice anyway as it fell... gotta find gotta find it!"  
She muttered to herself as she moved along.  
  
Kiyone sighed, trying to recall to her mind's eye how it looked  
like as she quickly mouthed arcane words for the Search  
spell...  
  
"There it is!" she cried as she spotted a distant light yellow  
shine out further down the brook, and hoped her mental  
image was projected accurately enough for the spell to effect  
the right object. Mihoshi accelerated, as Kiyone struggled to  
recover her breath.  
  
Great... now we're heading towards Cyr Lord territory... ah  
well, it's not as if we're at war, are we?   
  
Yeah right, given my luck today we probably will be before the  
day is out.  
  
The slight figures of the two female elves shifted and were  
swallowed up once more amongst the trees, only this time,  
they were no longer within the forest of Edwyn.  
  
====================================  
  
It was a good way after he had left the king's highway and  
entered the forest of Cyr before Grel dismounted and led his  
steed to the riverbank to drink. But though the territory was  
friendly, the horse still seemed uneasy, and he did what he  
could to comfort her along the way.  
  
"Shhhh, what is it, girl?" She refused to calm down and even  
pressed her head into his chest almost like a little child who's  
petrified of the dark and grasps her father's coattail's out of  
desperation. At any rate, this was not something a typical  
horse would do. "What? What IS it?"  
  
She began to push against him more insistently, forcing him  
to take a step away as his balance was skewed.   
  
"What in --"   
  
She suddenly reared back and knocked him aside with a  
powerful blow from her body. He hit the ground hard and  
tried to roll to his feet, but a piece of his chest armour caught  
on a protruding tree root and held him fast, leaving him laying  
dazed for the moment.  
  
Now that was a new experience.  
  
Looking back to the horse in bemusement, he wondered  
briefly what joke the gods were playing on him now. What  
were the odds of him getting a crazy mount on this of all  
days? He didn't even know her name, as she was on loan  
from his patron lord for the specific purpose of getting him to  
the Cyr monastery to deliver a sealed document from the  
Prince to the Cyr Lords, and then get the hell back. Well but  
anyway, this whole day had been weird, so he chalked it up  
as yet another outbreak of pure chaos.  
  
As if to prove his point, the horse let out a deafening scream  
and pitched over onto Grel, pinning him to the ground and  
quite nearly breaking every rib in his chest but for the blessed  
intervention of the armour he'd worn on a whim.  
  
Grel wheezed at the impact and struggled to free himself from  
the root that still held his shoulder guard and incidentally  
prevented him from squirming out beneath the infernal beast.  
Just then, he felt an odd sticky warmth on his legs, and  
paused in his struggle to examine the prone horse closer.  
  
With a sinking realisation he realised a chunk of flesh was  
missing from the entire right side of the horse's body...almost  
as though it had been burned away, and the warmth he felt  
was her heart's blood gushing from her body directly onto his  
legs.  
  
Stunned at the realisation, he could only curse and drop his  
head back down.   
  
What in the name of Nyxator did that?! I didn't even see...  
  
Cautiously he peeked back over the horse to survey the  
surroundings more thoroughly. There was nothing near that  
he could see, but that hardly meant he was safe. Whatever did  
this had evaded his detection completely.  
  
He looked down at the poor creature.   
  
She saw it coming...and tried to warn me?  
  
He patted her one good rump. "Sorry, girl...a nobler steed  
never existed."  
  
"Touching..."  
  
Grel jerked up at the words, his heart finally deciding to skip a  
beat. Looking quickly in the direction of the voice, he made  
out a dark shape moving towards him. Its outline was vague,  
almost blurry, and its voice carried a tangible coldness that  
chilled to the very marrow of his being.  
  
Redoubling his efforts to free himself from beneath the dead  
horse, Grel just managed to unhook himself from that  
accursed root as the figure stooped beside him, and he  
fearfully looked up into the hooded face of...   
  
A human man.  
  
Pushing back his cowl, the newcomer offered him an  
unsettling grin. "You look like you're injured. Could I offer a  
hand?"   
  
And without waiting for a reply, the man grabbed the horse's  
rear and in a single mighty motion completely flipped the  
carcass into the air.   
  
The being smiled as Grel scrambled backwards trying to get  
to his feet, without success, then backed himself into a tree,  
flinching again as the horse's body finally hit the ground  
several yards away. Before him the cloaked man rose to his  
full two metre height and calmly stepped towards him.  
  
"Now why were you heading into the Cyr Lord's territory in  
such a hurry?" Grel stumbled his way to his feet and stepped  
further back as the man advanced. "And all alone as  
well...don't you know that travelling alone can be  
dangerous?"   
  
Grel was terrified but felt certain that the second he turned to  
run, he'd have a lightning bolt or some such blasted through  
his back...probably what happened to the horse.  
  
The man snapped his fingers, "Ah, I got it." His smile  
widened. "You're a messenger aren't you? Some noble  
needed to pass some urgent information through to the Cyr  
Lords and he sent you to pass the word?"  
  
Grel's right hand closed around the handle of the small  
dagger he kept in a holster up his sleeve at all times.  
Something his mentor had taught him, which was never to  
rely completely on a single skill or weapon, but always carry a  
back up. He had a broadsword at his side, but was hesitant to  
just go for it and try to fight this man outright.  
  
The man stopped his advance, "Is it possible you received  
advanced warning of our little arrangements for the feast  
today and have come to warn them? Haha, no, not possible."  
The man waved his hand in the air in a gesture, the meaning  
of which escaped Grel.   
  
Something to do with the darkland inhabitants to the west...  
  
Wait...an invasion?!   
  
NO!  
  
"You talk too much." Grel spun around to face the new  
speaker. "And take too long. Why is he still alive?"  
  
"Ah, I was wondering how long it would take for you to show  
up." The cloaked man grinned a disturbing, almost skeletal,  
grimace at the new comer as he dismounted from a powerful  
black steed.  
  
The burly, heavily set man approached arrayed in travel  
stained iron armour that somehow gleamed with menace, and  
a crimson cape trailed behind him. Oddly, at least for those of  
his kind, his deathmask was raised, and though his  
expression was hardly pleasant, Grel actually felt more at  
ease now that the brutish warrior was at the scene.   
  
At least I know he's human...even if he does want to do me in.  
  
"What... you want me to finish him for you?" the metal-clad  
warrior guffawed.  
  
The creature, though it yet looked much like a man, growled  
in reply and clamped a strong hand on Grel's shoulder. "Idiot.  
I don't need help."  
  
Grel tensed, sensing that his end was near. He would either  
act now or perish in obscurity.   
  
In a rapid and precise movement developed over years of  
private tutelage, he grabbed the pro-offered hand on the  
thumbside and peeled it back as he spun away - a manoeuvre  
that would loose the mightiest of holds - then back again.  
Grabbing the rim of the figure's hood he yanked it down with  
all his might, causing his stunned attacker to bow slightly,  
and his dagger left his sleeve to jab smoothly into the man's  
chest, incidentally pinning the hood neatly to it.  
  
The helghast, for that was what it was, screamed in  
frustration at his momentary defeat and unleashed a massive  
mind-blast in Grel's last known direction. The invisible shot  
went far wide of its mark, for Grel had moved quickly away...  
right into the oncoming swing of his other foe's war-axe.  
  
Reflexes took over as Grel bent his knees and arched his  
back at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the drakkar's  
blade, his momentum carrying him out of the axe range,  
sliding him across the sparse grass onto his knees. It took  
the merest second for him to regain his footing, and he  
sprinted away toward the nearby river.  
  
The helghast made inhuman noises in his growing rage at the  
infernally strong material of the cowl covering his face.  
"REMOVE.... THISSSSS... BLASSSSTED -- !!!"  
  
His partner recovered comparatively quickly and dropped his  
axe in preference of a machete sized throwing knife in his  
belt...  
  
Grel, in his haste to merely get away, forgot momentarily  
about his direction... and the exceptionally dense greenery in  
the area...  
  
The drakkar launched his weapon with veteran power and  
accuracy mere seconds before his target abruptly deviated  
from his original trajectory thanks to an especially nasty tree  
root that his foot caught. The knife missed all vitals, just  
barely grazing Grel's shoulder as it caught firmly in his  
twisted shoulderpad that had been loosened earlier. Though  
he would've likely tumbled down the steep bank leading to  
the river at any rate, the added force of the drakkar's blade  
ensured that Grel made that trip in style, executing a full flip  
before missing all earth and landing in the deep, murky water  
below.  
  
"Fla-chete!!" the dark soldier cursed his poor aim loudly, and  
jogged quickly to the river's edge to search for the body. The  
river flowed by a few feet beneath him, its muddy depths  
revealing no sign of his quarry.  
  
"Where issss he?" the helghast demanded as he arrived at  
the water's edge. A silent pointing finger was the warrior's  
only reply. "You let him get away?!"  
  
"*Me*!! You had your damn HANDS on him!"  
  
"Do not try to blame me. You had ample opportunity to ssstop  
him. Your aim was completely dissssmal."  
  
The drakkar smiled at this and retorted wittily, "His wasn't,"  
his gauntlet patted the hilt of Grel's dagger that was still  
protruding from the helghast's chest. "Nice hat by the way."  
  
For the helghast had finally gotten a good enough grip on his  
hood to rip it completely in half, and it now hung in tatters  
over his head and shoulders. "You like thisss? Here, I'll rip  
your ssskull to match... What...!?"  
  
They both turned at the sound of a horse's neigh to see the  
unexpected sight of Grel, a dripping, muddy mess, working  
the reins of the drakkar's mount and finally kicking back with  
his heels to send the animal galloping away.   
  
Grel headed directly down his original course, the trees  
whipping past him as he continued his journey to the Cyr  
monastery at high speed, determined to reach it as quickly as  
possible, for he was filled with the dread. Should the  
information of a surprise attack be true, then every single  
soul, human and elf alike, in the land was in mortal danger.  
  
Behind him, his two foes stared in silence at the receding  
cloud of dust that was once their transportation. Each was  
unwilling to say anything for several minutes.  
  
Finally the helghast said, "There goes your horse, Vergil..."  
  
====================================  
  
Grel had been riding his new mount into the ground, making it  
give all it was worth for nearly half an hour now, and  
blessedly, the beast showed no signs of tiring. He wished  
absently that he'd had such a sturdy steed to begin with, but  
then perhaps he'd not have learned that the Cyr Monastary  
was possibly in great danger. If he were of a clearer mind  
though, he would not have marvelled at his steed's  
constitution, for it had survived the harsh environs of the  
darklands and brutal servitude under its drakkarim owners.  
  
He reached for the small, nearly invisible cord around his  
neck that held to the small of his back the document he'd  
been carrying, well hidden should he even be robbed. If the  
circumstances were any less dire, he'd never even have  
considered breaking his oath of confidentiality, but this was  
about as nasty as circumstances got, so...  
  
He pulled it out, still a bit too wary to even let his horse slow  
at all. Fighting the bounce of his transport, he began to  
examine the document in minute detail. He finally decided that  
whatever it was... whatever secrets it contained... it was safer  
in his head than in his hand.  
  
Thus decided, it was with a flourish that he flipped it open,  
breaking the seal of the house of Misaki apart.  
  
"Oh?" He stared, for although it was addressed to Cyr Lord  
Kendelros on the outside, inside was a simple plain envelope  
addressed simply to... Yosho.  
  
Yosho? Who the hell is that? No rank at all, yet residing within  
the Cyr Monastery... This is passing strange. Could this be a  
letter of warning as to the invasion, or some secret  
information ? Oh well, since I've already opened one, may as  
well go all the way...  
  
Opening the second envelope, he read...  
  
Dear Yosho  
  
Just a letter to wish you well, I'm sure darling Azusa has told  
you how absent minded I can be. Last year's Feast day was  
such a busy period, what with our dearest little Aeka going  
over to Toran. Little Aeka's now a fine young lady, and she's  
all pretty much grown up now... but getting a little absent  
minded, forgetting to hug me now and then, and I have to  
remind her. Hmm... you never did see my darling little Aeka  
anyway, did you? I can't quite remember... but anyway she's  
family. Just so you know.  
  
So, where was I? Well yes, it was awfully busy last year, and I  
forgot about sending you a card. I think I did so the year  
before too... but I can't quite remember. Anyway I later wailed  
to your brother about it, but you know him, he always tells me  
not to bother sending to you because you dislike such  
things. That can't be true, I'm sure, everyone likes greetings  
from kin, especially from far away. It's not very far though, is  
it? They tell me it's close by, but you always forbid us to visit.  
  
Anyway... happy Feast of Fealty. I hope this finds you on time,  
it is getting rather close to the Feast. Azusa says it will be late  
and tells me not to send, but I go ahead anyway. Missing one  
year is too much, really... or was it two? Well this simply must  
get to you on time, just you wait and see.  
  
Sincerely  
  
Misaki  
  
He reread it, determined to believe that there was an intricate  
code woven into these words, and praying to every god in his  
recollection that this wasn't what it looked like. Blinking to  
himself, he realised that he didn't have to destroy this...  
anyone who didn't know the code would see it for what it  
appeared to be. And then there was the unfortunate  
possibility that it was what it appeared to be, and then there'd  
be no point in hiding it anyway. Muttering an oath, he stuffed  
the flowery greeting card back into the envelope and tucked it  
into the folds of his tunic.  
  
Warily he looked in the western direction, to the forest of  
Edwyn, which stood between the darklands and this place  
along the outskirts of the Freelands. It should have been  
much safer than it felt to him, for the presence of the elves  
that should have been guarding it was removed and distant,  
and to his eyes it almost seemed as if the trees and horizon  
were full of distant, dark, moving shadows, perhaps  
dark-robed riders, iron-clad swordsmen or worse...   
  
The words of the helghast returned to him, and his resolve  
hardened.  
  
Well, important document or not, I've got life or death to  
deliver today, so I'll just have to hope that I'm not too late.  
  
Tsunami protect us.  
  
Driving his spurs into the drakkar's mount, he made off south  
east, in the direction of the monastery nestled within the  
forest.  
  
====================================  
  
"Greetings, my dear."  
  
Magelord Alenna turned around just in time to see a tall,  
youthful seeming elf step out from beneath the shadow of a  
tree, with his hood let down. He had beautiful, long silvery  
hair that came down to the middle of his back, with very fine,  
flawless pale skin, and his face was longish, broad and only  
very faintly beige-tinted.   
  
"Why hello there...!" Alenna greeted, cordially. Even by elvish  
standards within the Nexus this fellow gave the impression of  
being a cut above the rest. "You a regular here?"  
  
"I'm very sorry, but not by any standards, no..." His voice was  
deep and comfortable, a rather pleasant, mellow tone. "What  
about you?"  
  
"Once in a blue moon... enough to recognise some faces here  
and there..." she drew closer to him, taking a quick sip from  
her glass. "You need a drink? There's some right over there."  
  
The elf smiled, a cold, formal smile, shaking his head. "No  
thank you, my dear."  
  
"Well then, how might I help you?" She looked him up and  
down. "You look like you could go far in here."  
  
"Oh?" He smiled again, with no more warmth than before.  
"How delightfully kind of you to flatter me so."  
  
Alenna let herself a slight laugh. "You're a charming one."  
She wasn't married yet, and was yet young by Magelord  
standards. "What's your name?"  
  
The elf smiled, this time, slightly more warmly. "I was just  
wondering... would it be too much to ask for you to come  
closer? It does feel so... impersonal this way."  
  
The magelord hesitated, then obliged, moving slightly closer.  
"Sure."   
  
Her eyes met his, and she wondered at his splendid, golden  
eyes, shining just like the sun.  
  
"Your eyes are beautiful..." she whispered, in awe. In all of  
Edwyn she had yet to see this tint of colour yet. "You simply  
must tell me your name..."  
  
"It's a nice, simple name, my dear." He put his hand on her  
shoulder. "A very warm, comfortable name." He drew her  
close. "Kagato."  
  
Alenna opened her mouth to scream as a sudden chill, ice  
cold numbing pain shot through her body to strike her heart,  
from her shoulders, from where his hands touched her body,  
but she knew in that instant, that she was dead, and that her  
life was over already. Yet even as she died, she felt something  
evil, something dark and rampant and malicious roving within  
her soul, searching for a taint of impurity, a mirror of itself to  
hang on to, to take possession of, so it could fester and grow  
within her like a cancerous sore.  
  
Please no... don't let it damn me! She prayed, as her  
consciousness fled.  
  
The elf drew back into the shadows, then let the lifeless body  
fall limply onto the ground, as his fingers plucked the  
wineglass of mead from her nerveless fingers, and he  
casually sipped at it. "To you," he murmured, as he savoured  
the taste of the sweet fluid. "My dear."  
  
Letting go of the cup, he turned away, as the cup floated  
down gently to land by the corpse, which was already turning  
blue as it started to freeze, its blood freezing solid within its  
veins.  
  
The elf sighed.  
  
Well, it's not as if I didn't try. It's already the eighth person and  
still I haven't been able to possess anyone with the spirit of  
Tokimi. Tsunami protects those within her ranks with power  
and purity of heart well, even if they should be rather more  
alert.  
  
He stared up at the sun.  
  
And I still have a schedule to keep.  
  
Stepping out once more into the open, he quickly found  
himself within a group of a respectable size. No one asked  
questions, no one made comments on his presence. They  
just moved aside to make space for him, lords and  
champions alike, reflecting the accommodating spirit of the  
elves.  
  
"Thank you, kind sirs." He replied, but he did not sit.  
  
Several more moments passed, before someone asked. "Hey,  
take a seat with us! No need to be high and mighty or worried  
about rank, at least not today." The speaker laughed. "We're  
all brothers and equals today, right?"  
  
There was a chorus of assent from the group, and the elf  
nodded, before replying to the speaker. "Well, I was  
wondering, my good sir, if you would by any chance happen  
to know where our beloved Prelates of the Edwyn are?"  
  
The elder shook his head good-naturedly. "Nah... no idea.  
They'll be somewhere about though, that's for sure. You can  
take my word for it."  
  
It's getting a little late... he thought.  
  
"Very well then." He smiled in reply. "I apologise for this  
rudeness, and please understand what I am about to do has  
absolutely nothing to do with exceptional dislike for this  
group in particular."  
  
"Oh, I guess you really have to look for them, huh?" The  
leader smiled. "Sure, go right ahead."  
  
The elf nodded gratefully. "Thank you very much for  
understanding."  
  
Then, for that group, the whole world went a bright, brilliant  
green.  
  
====================================  
  
Tenchi stared at the swordpoint held to his throat by a  
smirking Ryoko.  
  
"All right..." he gulped, trying not to swallow lest his Adam's  
apple be nicked. "You win..." In his mind's eye he was still  
smarting and reeling from what he had seen as he had struck  
Ryoko's blade. The thing had seemed to fly, and if she were a  
lesser warrior it would have been sent spinning out of her  
grip, leaving her weaponless, yet Ryoko seemed to move with  
the blade and stick her hand on to it, spinning with the  
momentum of her weapon as though herself were no more  
than a weightless anchor to the ground where her feet were,  
and the graceful ballet had led her in a full circle back to  
Tenchi's unguarded side. Not that he normally would be  
unable to parry, but he had yet to regain his balance and pull  
back from the attack he had over committed to, courtesy of  
the tree root.  
  
Ryoko smiled and withdrew her sword, then made a face.  
"Heh, you'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" She had caught  
the look as Tenchi threw a glancing glare at the offending tree  
root that had acted as the more classical banana skin.  
  
"Actually, no," Tenchi got up into a half crouching position,  
recovering almost instantaneously into a semi-combat  
stance. "Because it wouldn't make a difference to you."  
  
"Oh my, Tenchi, seems you *are* learning a thing or two."  
  
The boy groaned from his crouching position before her  
triumphantly upright form. "Sometimes I just wish you'd just  
leave me alone."  
  
"I might..." Ryoko seemed to contemplate the thought, staring  
thoughtfully into the distance, before suddenly moving her  
head down in front of Tenchi's face, grinning broadly. "...  
Not!" The suddenness of the amber eyes appearing before  
him caused him to almost fall back, but being a Cyr Lord,  
even if only an acolyte, he instinctively executed a quick hop  
backwards, which kept him upright.   
  
"Ryoko, I..." His eyes widened and his ears pricked up as his  
instincts picked up a threat mere seconds before the barest  
sound and movement came unto his ears.  
  
As one, the two of them dived away into the undergrowth as  
the sounds of hard pounding hooves against the grassy  
earth became just barely discernible.  
  
====================================  
  
WHAT THE HELL!?  
  
Hisamura stood up, his glass shattering as he dropped it from  
his fingers out of pure shock, his eyes staring disbelieving as  
an area of radius over twenty metres fanned out with  
incredible speed from its epicentre close to the centre of the  
Nexus. Even with the bountiful magical defences usually  
girdled about the Nexus lowered on this occasion, the area  
was still the focal point of many shielding auras. For the blast  
to devastate such a huge swathe of the forest, the sheer  
amount of power expended must have been almost  
unimaginably colossal, and Hisamura knew only of one being  
in the whole of Aeon that might conceivably wield such  
incredible might.  
  
As he, and most other other elves raced towards the centre,  
he became aware of a deadly possibility...  
  
Even as the smoke from the blast cleared, the Darklord  
picked himself up, dusting himself slightly. The dust from the  
smoke did not affecting his silver-grey hair in the least, and  
his golden eyes yet shone with sinister light, except that now  
he was no longer in his elvish guise, but the towering two and  
a half metre tall ruler of the Darklands. Casually he withdrew  
from under his lincoln green robes an obsidian staff, almost  
two metres in length, double tipped with cruelly sharpened  
crystalline edges, laced with jet black metal that shone and  
pulsed to a violet light. The whole thing hummed with  
unknown reserves of diabolical power, as the three red gems  
set deep within its core glowed eerily like the crimson eyes  
buried deep within the shadowed depths of the staff. Forged  
by the sheer will of the dark goddess Tokimi herself, this was  
the first time the object known as the Deathstaff would be  
unleashed upon the unsuspecting world of Aeon.   
  
"To your posts!" Hisamura suddenly halted, and shouted, his  
voice booming over the entirety of the Nexus, halting the  
converging elves in their steps, but the order for the elves to  
teleport out of the area and take up their commanding  
appointments came too late.  
  
Smiling, Kagato casually jabbed the weapon into the ground,  
which quaked beneath it as an all consuming darkness burst  
out from within to poison and defile the once hallowed  
ground of the Nexus of Edwyn. The living earth itself  
screamed beneath the subterranean onslaught of darkness  
that warped and desecrated the area while wracking the  
bodies those who walked on it. At the same time, the other tip  
of the fell weapon that was facing upwards flared to unleash a  
huge blaze of green and violet, which raced skywards to the  
shimmering crackles and wreaths of midnight energies that  
surrounded it. Reaching about thirty metres above, it then  
burst to form a midnight shield about the Nexus, cutting off  
the light of the noon sun and ushering in the darkness of the  
night amidst the crackle of green and violet lightning...  
  
Too late! Hisamura thought, as he felt the energies of a  
massive teleportation barrier spell fall into place about the  
Nexus, then a split second later, the circle of blackness which  
caused the greenery that composed the Nexus to writhe and  
die reached unto his feet. His insides curled and contorted  
within him with a malicious life of their own as it struck him,  
and his world all but burst out into shocking streams of blood  
red pain. His heart pulsed agonisingly in time to the dark,  
insidious force of the puissant Deathstaff that emanated from  
its accursed spot by Kagato, and he drew upon all of his  
innate might and willpower to withstand the debilitating  
effects of Tokimi's mighty will.   
  
Dimly he could make out about him the screams of tortured  
souls as the stomachs and brains of the uninitiated exploded  
out of their bodies, while the lesser Sentinels died as the  
pressure within sent steaming blood spurting out of the  
various orifices in their bodies even as their hearts exploded  
to melt their lungs with scalding blood. Most of the Magi fell  
into a dead faint, too weak to retain their consciousness after  
holding back the dark doom that awaited them, while the  
greater Mage-Sentinels, including the Magelords, keeled over  
panting in exhaustion as they just managed to overcome the  
might ranged against them, barely strong enough to be able  
to defend themselves.  
  
Hisamura himself had little difficulty overcoming the  
weakness and pain that had taken him as the power ebbed  
away as suddenly as it had came, and looking around he  
quickly found that he and a handful of elves, the Elite and  
Archmagi, were the only ones left standing.  
  
Oh great Tsunami...! His heart cried, bursting out wretched  
and bleeding at the desecration of the beauty all about him,  
and the strewn of those dead and fainted alike, and tears  
streamed down his face in his extreme grief.   
  
"KAGATO!" He snarled, his preternaturally benign  
countenance contorting into that of savage rage as his gaze,  
along with that of several hundred turned to face the figure in  
the distance, the origin of the dark energies. "I will *KILL*  
you!"  
  
His baleful gaze found the figure of Kagato collapsed onto its  
knees, surrounded by a circle of fine, blackened ash, with a  
gloved hand clutching almost desperately at the Deathstaff,  
which no longer hummed and vibrated with power, its  
scintillating obsidian crystal edge no longer shining with  
lustre. Within it the three red gems seemed to have dimmed to  
blood red, sullen eyes that gazed out from within their  
shadowed prison, yet the thing seemed to been rooted in its  
spot, an ever so fine line of might streaming skywards. Yet  
even at Hisamura's vengeful declaration, the figure mustered  
enough energy, and from behind the slightly unkempt hair  
and haggard face, the golden eyes gleamed with confidence  
at the challenge. "Oh?" he whispered, as the ring of Elvish  
Elite and Archmagi closed in around. "Says you... and what  
power?"   
  
"Ours," a cold, feminine voice, trembling with repressed  
anger, answered from another section of the area about  
Kagato, as the Darklord almost painfully got to his feet,  
clinging onto the erect Deathstaff for support, yet his  
shoulders were even and rose so that they were perfectly  
level throughout.  
  
"I'm afraid..." he cast his eyes around. "That you're a little out  
of your depth," he looked up at Hisamura, and smiled a thin,  
sinister smile from behind his dark tinted glasses.  
  
A ghostly light seared through the darkness as the ground  
directly below the Prelate erupted into a fiery, geyser-like  
pillar of violet-green hellfire that enveloped the elf, then the  
area within a ten metre radius about the old elf burst out in  
spasmodic black tongues of fire, causing the Elite around the  
Prelate to scatter in the wake of the fire's blast. At the same  
time, a huge roar erupted from the west as the armies of  
darkness swarmed in, the drakkarim and vordak lieutenants  
grimly leading the platoons of screaming, spitting orcs, their  
pitted blades shining sinisterly as they charged into the  
Nexus, amidst the scattered bodies of the elves, aiming to  
destroy those who were still alive, and the Darklord arched  
his eye in amusement as he noted the Elite and the Prelates  
had not turned around and seemed to be prepared to leave  
their lesser brethren to an ignominious death at the hands of  
his army...  
  
Callousness and confidence are two different things.  
  
====================================  
  
A simple, but costly lesson.  
  
The first wave of the fallen legions, sweeping in all along the  
five hundred metre front of the approximately squarish  
demarcated area that was the Nexus, managed to rampage  
over a distance of merely twenty metres, trampling about ten  
Mage-Sentinels at most, before the a three metre high wall of  
brambles and thorns spontaneously appeared practically all  
along the five hundred metre long front, almost  
instantaneously shredding apart or impaling all the leading  
Drakkarim and vordaks upon its sharpened stakes, as well as  
at least seven hundred orcs following each one of them, as  
the greater Mage-Sentinels looked up from their  
semi-incapacitated state to halt the enemy...  
  
====================================  
  
They could only watch, stricken with shock and fear, as the  
riders galloped through the forest, mere flashes of darkened  
iron, scarlet capes, sable robes and black horseflesh between  
the trees, to the thunder of their steeds' hooves breaking  
through the undergrowth. Though neither Tenchi nor Ryoko  
had seen enemies in the flesh before, they recognised most  
of the riders as drakkarim, horsemen and shock troops of the  
Darklord's army, and some of the scarlet clad vordak  
lieutenants, but more fearsome were those robed and hooded  
entirely in rotting brown or black, for these were the dreaded  
helghast. Above them too, were vague shapes of creatures,  
like a brief cloud of darkness passing overhead. Though  
these swept by too swiftly on the wings to be discernible and  
were rapidly lost to sight, they were no doubt wyvern steeds  
bearing servants of the Darklord, even as on the cavalry  
continued to pass through.  
  
Yet for all these, what truly struck fear in their hearts was the  
presence of the enemy, undetected and unharried within the  
Freelands, and in such numbers, for surely this meant  
something was greatly amiss...  
  
Then just as suddenly, they were gone, leaving only the  
quaking earth and the shuddering trees as silent witnesses to  
their passage.  
  
Tenchi peered cautiously out from behind the shrub, then  
swore under his breath. "How in Aeon...!?"  
  
Beside him Ryoko rose up amidst a rustle of leaves. "They're  
heading for the monastery." Her hand went to her sword.   
  
"They don't know that they're coming, do they?" Tenchi  
whispered, dread creeping up in his voice, and the horrible  
prospect ran through in his mind.. the numbers of cavalry that  
had gone past them like the sweeping heralds of a dark  
doom... the cloud of darkness overhead that they couldn't  
make out clearly through the forest canopy...   
  
And the feast... back at the monastery.  
  
"They soon will." She snarled, baring her teeth in the  
direction, then suddenly sprang up into a run...  
  
"NO."  
  
And stopped.  
  
"You're not going back, Ryoko."   
  
She looked up from Tenchi's firm grip on her arm, surprise  
written all over her face as her gaze met that of his grim  
brown eyes. "Let go of me, you!" She cried, trying to pull back  
from him. "They must be warned!"  
  
"Yes, they must be." He pulled her back, slowly but firmly. "I  
will return to warn them."  
  
Ryoko's expression turned incredulous. "Are you out of your  
mind?"  
  
"Shhhh!" He exclaimed, fear creeping into his eyes as he  
pulled her down. "Don't be so loud! There might still be more  
of them!"  
  
"Well, I'm going back." She answered stubbornly, rising to  
her feet again.  
  
"No," the boy seized her sky blue cape. "I am."  
  
"Oh yeah!? And what makes you think you can get  
through!?"  
  
"Get down!" Tenchi exclaimed urgently, and the odd gleam in  
his eye caught so that even though Ryoko was definitely not  
going to leave the matter as it were, she complied.   
  
Curiosity bade her turn around, and she swore under his  
breath as she saw the forms of a group of the sinister riders  
turning round and heading back towards them.   
  
"Oh brother." Ryoko muttered. "I just knew I shouldn't have  
told you what I wanted to do."  
  
"You mean you should have kept your voice down as you  
said it." He whispered hoarsely. The horsemen had not seen  
them yet, but clearly they had sensed some activity, thus had  
wheeled round to investigate its source. "I'm losing valuable  
time... I should be on my way back now."  
  
"Why can't you get the thought of sneaking back through that  
mess out of your mind?" Ryoko muttered, letting her bow off  
her back and holding it in her hand, still trying to remain still  
in the shrub. "You'll just get cut to pieces halfway. Now if,  
anyone could get back, that'd be me."  
  
"And I'm just going to let you go back on your own like that?  
Hell no." Tenchi sounded a little miffed, despite the situation.  
"Sure you'll get back... then you'll get cut to pieces too."   
  
"Says who?" Ryoko shot back, her emotions surfacing again.  
  
"Hey hey! Hold on there you're talking too loud!" Tenchi  
whispered loudly in shocked surprise.  
  
"Oh yeah like I'm scared of them!" Ryoko's voice was getting  
louder. "Do you have any idea what I am missing over here!?"  
  
"Pipe down!!" Tenchi cried out desperately, despite himself.  
  
"If they ever dare to do anything to the monastery..." She  
paused momentarily at this moment, her fist clenching up into  
whitened knuckles as her teeth were bared. "They'll regret it...  
I swear."  
  
Caught up in the emotions that had taken Ryoko, which  
echoed deep within his heart, he suddenly realised that there  
was a galloping sound, crescendoing... turned just in time to  
see from over the shrub, a rider bearing down on them.  
"RYO...!"  
  
But before he could even finish his warning cry, there was a  
soft thunk as an arrow practically appeared from nowhere to  
sink into the rider's shoulder, where his breastplate ended  
and his arm armour began. A muffled grunt came from under  
the iron cast mask over the face, shaped into a leering face of  
death, and the horse's gallop slowed as its rider swayed a  
little in his seat, but nevertheless the rider was almost upon  
them...  
  
There was a soft neigh as the horse cantered to a halt behind  
them, its rider swaying in his saddle, his curved sword held  
loosely in his hand. The shrub they had been hiding behind  
was split apart, having been shorn in two... then the rider  
himself fell off, a second arrow lodged snugly where his  
helmet met his throat.  
  
"Now that *was* a little lucky," Ryoko muttered coolly from  
beside Tenchi, a hand still clutching tightly to her bow, the  
other reaching out for another shaft - they both had dived  
away into the open before the rider's onslaught.  
  
"I wish it wasn't just luck." Tenchi gritted his teeth, his sword  
now in hand, having been drawn as the drakkar had ridden  
over them. "Two more."   
  
The two mounted drakkarim, heavily armoured and thickset  
atop their sturdy steeds, stared at the two for a moment from  
where they were within the trees. Perhaps it was more  
strongly an element of shock, or evaluating the possibility of  
not being able to slay these two young upstarts on their own,  
but in any case, their expressions were absolutely inscrutable  
behind their deathmasks. Then quite suddenly, without any  
communication, four metal spurs bit into the horse's sides  
and the two riders burst out from behind the cover of the  
trees, cruelly curved scimitars glinting coldly in the light of the  
mid afternoon.  
  
A dull clang rang out as an arrow was deflected off one of the  
scimitars.  
  
"Damned, shot too early." Ryoko cursed, as Tenchi stepped  
aside and forward towards one of the riders, sword at the  
ready.   
  
A streak of silver steel as the rider swung down and forward  
at the boy, followed by the loud clash of ringing steel.  
Tenchi's breath caught in his lungs as the sheer impact of the  
beast's onrush combined with the weight of the heavy  
swinging weapon struck his blade, sending him hurtling back  
from the force, but he managed to land lithely on his feet and  
disengaged his weapon as his foe thundered past.  
  
That was rough!! He grimaced.  
  
Beside him, Ryoko loosed another arrow as the drakkar bore  
down upon her, but the shaft only lodged into the armour at  
the rider's left arm, barely piercing the flesh. Cold metal  
swung towards her shoulder blade and her bow left her hand  
as she hurled herself back, her other hand drawing her sword  
as her foe galloped past in a rush of black horseflesh and  
burnished iron metal.  
  
"You okay?" Tenchi asked, not taking his eyes off both the  
riders, who were once again side by side as they were  
wheeling their horses around for a second pass, barely five  
meters ahead of them.  
  
"Dropped the bow, otherwise fine." She returned, tersely,  
letting the quiver of arrows hitched onto her back drop to the  
ground. "Any idea how to get them off those?"  
  
"Don't think so..."A little helplessly.  
  
"Great." Ryoko moved her legs into a ready stance as the  
drakkarim picked up speed. "Here they come again."  
  
Sheesh, wish I had paid more attention during dismounting  
class... he thought, breathing heavily, with fingers aching  
from holding on to the earlier jar from the weapon contact.  
  
The horse's heads were two metres away...  
  
The voice of Grand Lord Yosho drifted back from deep within  
his mind.  
  
Do not engage the enemy where he is strong.  
  
One metre.  
  
"The legs!" He called out, although there was no way to tell if  
she was already thinking the same thing.  
  
As one the two Cyr acolytes dived, swords flashing out,  
cutting the horses' legs.  
  
Man I hate doing this, Tenchi thought, as he heard the  
agonised neighs and the sound of bodies hitting the dirt as  
he rolled to his feet.  
  
What the...!!  
  
There was almost no time to react as he parried a heavy  
swinging blow to his waist, catching the glimpse of gyrating  
deathmask's sadistic leer, which briefly disconcerted him, so  
that it was pure reflex when it came to deflecting another hack  
diagonally upwards towards his shoulder.  
  
He must have jumped off as he saw us dive...  
  
A short distance away, Ryoko was battling too, her sword a  
flashing quicksilver amidst the more heavily swinging,  
darkened steel of the her foe, who had been no less alert than  
his comrade. Thrusting with her blade forward, she frowned  
as it slid off the mudcrusted breastplate, before twirling it  
back around in time to ward off another hacking swing to her  
chest.  
  
Man these guys sure move fast for all the crap they're  
wearing!  
  
====================================  
  
Meanwhile, Kagato suddenly made his move as the circle of  
Elite closed in, moving so fast in Cyriador's direction he  
seemed but a blur in the shadowed night, and his figure faded  
into blackness so he seemed but a shade in the darkness.  
Nevertheless almost fifty daggers, and the spitting of over  
two dozen spells surging from the vengeful Elite found their  
target, and Kagato was unnerved as he realised how close he  
came to destruction, but for some outside power that held his  
shield up against the onslaught.  
  
A blade of cold steel flashed out before Cyriador as she drew  
her swords, then their surface was engulfed in a shimmer of  
light blue that seemed to flow and banish the shadows,  
before the speeding shade that was the Darklord was upon  
her. A blaze of green erupted as a ghastly sword composed  
of pure energy and of greater than two-handed proportions  
materialised and instantaneously lashed out at her as its  
wielder's shadow descended upon her, then a huge burst of  
cyan sparks sprang up before the frail seeming figure of the  
Prelate was sent sliding back from the impact and force of the  
blow.  
  
====================================  
  
Velathius was, for the time being, not interested in the  
Darklord. Deadly and commanding, mighty and great, all  
these and more though the avatar of Tokimi was, there was  
another threat that his senses told him was the key to  
defeating the Darklord this day, but unfortunately, its power  
was bent greatly towards another end.  
  
The soft humming of the Deathstaff embedded within the  
scarred, tortured earth rang loud in his ears and engulfed his  
being as he sped towards it, his feet flying over the barren  
wracked soil and sharp wasted stones even more easily as  
they had once taken him over the grassy forests in his youth  
and training as an Elite. Yet as he drew near a massive dread  
overcame him, falling about his form like a mantle that  
threatened to snuff out his sanity and leave him a screaming  
hysterical wreck of a man that he once was, and he felt his  
steps becoming leaden as his sprint slowed to a run and then  
a jog. Thus it was that, at barely twenty metres from the dark  
artefact, he was battling against his own dread, working step  
after step towards his goal, his brow beaded with sweat. But  
if his eyes were fixed on the Deathstaff, it was only  
incidental... for the crimson gems shone and drew him in with  
their scarlet light, as if he were drowning even as he thirsted  
for blood...  
  
Yet ultimately, the position of Prelate was not a hollow seat  
potent only in name. Velathius was, at his prime, one of the  
most powerful elves, and even now, he was still a force to be  
reckoned with. Numbing rays of evil radiated from the  
Deathstaff, seeping into his being and causing his soul to  
convulse and twist with horror and loathing, but he drew  
about him all of his will of mind and his power like a radiant  
shield to keep the howling madness at bay, fending off the  
fangs of the beast that threatened to devour both soul and  
sanity, to fight and approach this artefact of desolation and  
destruction, even as his teeth chattered and gritted against  
each other.  
  
I must try... I must hold on...  
  
The images of his kindred, his brethren, falling in the prime of  
their lives to gruesome death in the wake of the weapon's  
unleashed might sent shockwaves of horror through his soul,  
but the horror dissipated to fresh tears in his eyes, and the  
anguish in his soul gave him energy where he might once  
have found none.  
  
And that must NEVER let that happen again... *NEVER*...  
  
====================================  
  
Backing away while going on the defensive, Tenchi sought  
anxiously for a chink within his enemy's sword strokes that  
he might be able to take decisive advantage of.   
  
There!  
  
Feinting a parry the boy dropped his blade before the hack,  
spinning his weapon forward and around in an arc that  
should have sent at least a moderate gash across his  
enemy's sword arm.  
  
Should have, except for the armour.  
  
Damned.  
  
A roar of rage from behind the deathmask as his opponent,  
realising his mistake and what might have transpired, sent his  
weapon after Tenchi with renewed ferocity.  
  
Tenchi gritted his teeth as he drew back, a little nonplussed  
but keeping his head nonetheless, fending off the blows with  
chagrin.   
  
Sheesh... me and my bright ideas, how could I not have  
known that wouldn't work?  
  
Well at least I took a good shot at him.  
  
Yosho's voice rang in his ears.  
  
It's not how battles are fought, but how battles are won.  
  
But how?  
  
The flash of steel almost sent sparks flying, and Tenchi  
winced, feeling his blade notch a little as his foe's strength  
was brought to bear on him.  
  
Man what force... strength... commitment...  
  
The merciless human eyes peeking out from under the mask  
were dark with fury, committed to bringing this young and  
relatively undersized upstart to heel beneath his blows.  
  
OVER-committed.  
  
Thinking quickly on his feet, Tenchi glanced back as he  
moved his back to a tree.  
  
Okay here it comes...  
  
Quickly he dodged sideways away from under the swing, and  
smiled as he heard the dull thunk of his foe's weapon  
connecting with hardwood.  
  
And here goes...  
  
Still utilising his momentum from his dodge, he sent his  
sword towards his foe's neck, but the man jerked back  
reflexively, his ferocity changing to clammy fear tightening its  
hold about him as he saw death flying towards him in the  
face. Tenchi's sword scrapped along the top of his breast  
plate, denting it and losing its power somewhat, before its  
edge slid into the nook just under the very edge of the  
deathmask... and stopped.  
  
====================================  
  
The battle between Ryoko and her opponent was going  
nowhere fast, and she knew it. While there were gaps in his  
defence as he attacked her, the armour generally did a decent  
job of covering the impact, and she thought better of  
committing to such a strike that might leave her open.  
  
Hmm... how about...  
  
She watched as the scimitar came whistling down towards  
her in a swinging hack towards her right shoulder, and just as  
it was about to make contact with the blade she had brought  
up to parry the blow, she launched a stinging pulse of  
psychic energy that she had been holding back straight into  
her opponent's deathmask.  
  
There was no visible expression, but the drakkar seemed to  
stiffen in pain, the weapon swinging down still but almost as  
dead weight. With a quick, well-timed swing, Ryoko caught  
the back of her opponent's weapon with her blade, and  
pressing on her own weapon she bore his down to the  
ground, so that though he had recovered from her psychic  
assault he could not draw his blade back in time.  
  
Her foe threw a punch with his free gauntleted hand, but she  
dodged down, and at the same time catching her opponent  
unawares, she stepped forward, hard against the back of the  
scimitar. The weapon, which already had its edge to the forest  
floor, under the combined weight of itself and her step, sunk  
readily into the ground.   
  
Quickly, following up with her step she moved under his left  
arm to his side, bringing her blade up from the ground and  
along behind her in a curling slash. Clanks sounded as it  
struck ineffectually against his armoured thigh and waist, and  
she could almost sense him ready to spin around as there  
was a tugging wet sound, like that of a blade emerging from  
the earth.   
  
He's swinging his weapon!  
  
A snap decision, and quite suddenly Ryoko halted her  
movement, stepping back while stabbing backwards and  
down against the side of her foe's body, directly under his left  
arm. Sliding down along the furrow in the side of metal plate,  
her blade's tip caught in the gap between his breast plate and  
lower body armour. She leaned back, the barest smile of  
satisfaction as she felt the metal girdle about her foe's waist  
give to the weight she exerted on the tip of the blade, which  
sank with deceptive ease to almost two-thirds of its length,  
and a low grunt of pain was heard.   
  
But satisfaction boded no carelessness - the drakkar's arm  
sent his heavy scimitar in one last swipe which just missed  
her back as she hit the dirt. Following the weight of his swing,  
the man spun half a circle around to his left, before crashing  
down to earth in a heap of armour with a final crunch,  
Ryoko's weapon sticking out from his side.  
  
====================================  
  
Outwardly grinning in triumph as his sword lowered, Kagato  
cursed to himself inwardly, noting that he had by now utterly  
lost his initiative from the surprise. The Elite seemed  
unworried, not seeming in the least perturbed as their leader  
was sent flying back, both her blades lowered almost  
touching the ground, then she landed lithely on her feet.   
  
"Impressive," Kagato nodded, his lips curled in a sneer of  
derision, but within him respect arose, for even after not  
having wielded a sword for a long time, Cyriador had reacted  
with lightning speed, managing not only to parry his blow but  
attacking twice, although Kagato had fended off her assaults  
with his other gloved hand. There was a grim glare in her  
eyes, unblemished by the least touch of pain, as she stared at  
her loathed foe standing across from her, then Kagato's eyes  
narrowed and a swirl of dark clouds bellowed up from all  
around him right in the midst of the Elite, who sprang back as  
from the shadows. From these shadows issued forth a host  
of crypt spawn, loathsome winged monstrosities armed with  
twining, clawed tentacles, which lashed out with an almost all  
consuming hatred of anything possessing the least  
goodness.  
  
Undaunted, the Elite swarmed in around the living cloud of  
evil that shadowed the Darklord, as behind them an  
Archmage from among the ranks uttered an invocation for  
Tsunami's light. The beasts writhed in the ensuing burst of  
holy power before they were felled by the cold gleaming  
blades of the elves, yet even more seemed to bubble out of  
the darkness to replace the fallen...  
  
====================================  
  
Meantime, the dark army's advance had halted where they  
stood upon the edge of the Nexus, an almost ignominiously  
disgraceful sight, for what was ranged against them were but  
several handfuls of weary Magelords and greater  
Mage-Sentinels, most of whom were barely able to stand on  
their feet.  
  
Then a new threat emerged, as before the darkland  
inhabitants, wisps and mists of shadow materialised and  
coalesced to form sinister black robed beings that emanated  
power, while from within the ranks other lesser Nadziranim  
stepped up from the back to join their elder brethren.  
  
Power crackled in the air, that danced and surged to hot  
sparks, for the arrival of the Nadziranim posed a new threat  
not unheeded by the Elvish Magi, who were forcing  
themselves up from the ground, and drawing what magicks  
they could to themselves, while the shadows before the army  
paused, as if informing their fellows, in their own secret way,  
their course of action.  
  
The forms of shadows that were the Nadziranim pulsed  
crimson, the only herald of the first attack before a bloody, if  
only metaphorical, contest unfolded, and the next moment a  
colossal sable tide rolled across the side blasted Nexus to  
engulf the defiant elves in its dark embrace. The elves braced  
themselves, many of them nodding in silent certainty that  
their defences would hold, but there were certain other  
factors...  
  
To their horror, the wave seemed to grow rather than diminish  
as it surged towards them, a tsunami of darkness that sought  
to drew them in, black as night and seeming to contain all the  
horrors of their darkest dreams. Surrounded by the evil magic  
that pulsed with a life of its own, as if feeding off some  
unknown source of power, quite some elves felt their  
defences crumble along with their courage, before they fell to  
the clinging wet darkness that throttled and choked the life  
out of them even as it seemed to billow into their lungs and  
try to corrupt them from within.  
  
The tide had barely passed before the reprisal was sent out,  
swiftly and surely, as though the elves had no need at all to  
communicate, with even distant handfuls pooling their power  
together. Huge bolas of burning fire rained down from above  
their warlock foes, exploding into whirling arcs of flame that  
lashed out at their targets before vanishing, and the  
Nadziranim, taken by surprise, were hard pressed before the  
assault, as some of the lesser kindred collapsed before and  
were consumed by the searing heat, even as the golden light  
that seemed to light up the place with their coming sent  
almost all the orcs, vordaks, and drakkarim behind reeling  
back from the brightness.  
  
Thwarted, there was a collective screaming howl from the  
Nadziranim, the voices at once human yet bestial, seemingly  
of all pitches and timbres possible, and the cacophony  
seemed no less than a cry from the abyss itself. A ripple  
passed through the ranks of the dark magi, and the greater  
ones underwent a gruesome transformation as they hurled  
themselves forward, their semi-solid bodies exploding  
outwards to become chaotic daemon beasts of nightmarish  
visages and gruesome form, surrounded yet by the arcane  
might the wizards yet wielded in their new form. Behind them  
the lesser ones sent tongues of green flame and deathly  
smog pouring out towards the elves, who quickly tried to  
replenish their energies to sustain a credible defence. The  
next moment, seizing the respite thus offered and the cover  
of the mage's magical defences, the dark army surged forth  
again...  
  
====================================  
  
What in Tsunami's name...!?  
  
He slid the blade further sideways along in a slicing motion,  
but incredibly his sword caught and jammed...  
  
There was a tense moment of stillness as Tenchi's fingers  
loosened in disbelief, and he could almost hear the shocked  
thumping of the drakkar's heart, almost hear the muffled  
clatter as the scimitar behind him dropped to the ground.  
  
My sword must have just caught on a metal catch under his  
mask!  
  
Wooah that was lucky, his weapon didn't lodge that deep into  
the tree...   
  
These guys ARE human after all.  
  
Seizing his moment of respite, the drakkar suddenly pushed  
the momentarily stunned Tenchi away from him with all his  
might.  
  
"AACK!" Tenchi cried, as, caught offguard, his sword fled  
from his momentarily loosened grasp, having been prevented  
from sliding out from under the mask by being lodged  
between the breast plate and the mask, its flat to the man's  
lower neck. His foe also stumbled forward too as Tenchi fell  
backwards onto the ground, Tenchi's sword unbalancing him  
as his other hand plucked a long dagger from his belt.  
  
Oh no... Tenchi thought as he saw the man, with the sword  
still stuck edgewise to his neck, descend on him.  
  
Tenchi you baka, you should have kept ALERT! Now you're  
going to get it...  
  
Desperately he tried to mindblast the drakkar as he had seen  
others, including Ryoko, do, having been taught the theory,  
but if it did anything at all, that was to cause the man to blink.  
  
Jamming his knee up against the man as he rolled a little to  
one side, Tenchi felt his heart skip a beat as the gleaming  
dagger sank into the ground right in front of his eyes, just to  
the left of his head, and if he groaned as the air was knocked  
out of his lungs by the weight of his foe on him, he was not  
aware of it.  
  
The next moment the drakkar's left gauntlet, then the right  
one which had been holding the dagger, was snatching at  
Tenchi's throat, trying to strangle him as he fought beneath  
the man's weight. With a strength borne of desperation,  
Tenchi pushed back with both his hands, at the same time his  
leg kicking up and pushing the armour so as to flip his enemy  
over onto his left. As his torso was not in direct contact with  
the ground, the drakkar could not stop himself from being  
turned over, and he had his breath knocked out of him by the  
weight of his armour as he struck the ground. The clawing  
gauntleted hands slackened momentarily, and Tenchi, who  
was now on top, suddenly realised he was looking right at his  
own sword, still lodged between the man's black breastplate  
and iron armoured visage, and behind his foe's hands...  
  
Later on, Tenchi would not even be able to recall his  
conscious train of thought, but one of his hands pinned his  
foe's hand down by the wrist so that the back of his hand was  
to edge of the blade, and Tenchi's other hand balled into a  
fist...   
  
====================================  
  
"TENCHI!" Ryoko cried out, having just turned around after  
pulling her sword from her enemy's body, only to see her  
comrade struggling with his foe on the ground about five  
metres away.  
  
As she broke into a run, she saw him roll his opponent over,  
and the next moment she saw him holding something down...  
then he punched. She could hear the sound of his knuckles  
striking into the drakkar's palm, the sound of metal giving  
way as the back of the gauntlet gave way, cutting the man's  
hand against Tenchi's sword. Lightning fast, frantically as if  
to not give any respite, came another punch, another, then  
another... and suddenly the metal catch under the drakkar's  
mask gave way...  
  
Tenchi sat back, panting, his face beaded with sweat,  
straddling his opponent, whose body had gone limp in his  
metal shell, whose blood was welling out below the edge of  
the sword, now embedded about an inch deep into his neck.  
  
"Tenchi, you okay?" Ryoko whispered anxiously, coming to  
a halt by his side.  
  
The boy nodded, dumbly, staring at his hands, stained with  
blood which had spurted out, taking deep gulping breaths of  
air, as if in shock. Almost zombie-like, he stood up a little  
unsteadily, and with a flourish born of his training, drew his  
sword from his enemy's neck, the steely blade staining  
crimson in the light of the day, and if he noticed the blood  
suddenly spurt out over the body, he did not show it.   
  
"I'm... fine." Some focus had returned to his eyes now, and he  
was staring with almost horrified fascination at the slain man.  
  
I did this...  
  
The glint from his blade caught in the sun, contrasting with  
the darkness of the blood on it.  
  
I have killed a man.  
  
He was a knight of the Darklord.  
  
But a man still.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yeah." He swallowed.   
  
I am a Cyr Lord. I trained for this... to defend my nation, to  
protect the innocent, to champion the cause of my lady  
Tsunami and lord Cyraqs.  
  
And to be a killing machine.  
  
He averted his eyes from the body with a suddenness that  
startled even Ryoko, trying to push the disturbing thoughts  
out of the way.   
  
I have to be strong... this is not the time to waver. Grand Lord  
Yosho and the rest are depending on me...  
  
Tenchi watched as his companion knelt, wiping her sword on  
the grass, leaving long lines of scarlet stained on emerald.  
"Ryoko..."  
  
"I have to hurry." She whispered tersely, but her eyes had not  
left him, and the worry was still written all over the face. "You  
sure you okay?" A pause. "Well... okay enough to take care of  
yourself."  
  
"Don't you feel anything?" He asked, half in surprise at her  
cavalier attitude. Not that he couldn't sense her concern for  
him, but he wondered what she felt for the men she had just  
slain.  
  
"What about?" She sheathed her sword.   
  
"... never mind."   
  
I guess some people just deal better with it.   
  
And that means I'm not really cut out for this, am I?  
  
"Take care Tenchi... I have to go back." The suddenness of  
her words drove out his doubts more effectively than he  
could have on his own, and the just barely audible  
wistfulness in her voice bit his soul to the quick. He tried to  
catch her gaze, but already she had turned, albeit more  
slowly than she might have otherwise. It was fear, fear for  
herself, that weighed heavily on her heart, but it was not from  
the fear of death that she was upset, nor because of it that  
she dared not look back at him as she turned to go. "Don't  
follow me." Her voice trembled slightly.  
  
His face tightened in resolve, and the last of his doubts  
vanished away like smoke in the wind. He had something  
important to do, for someone he cared for, and he was not  
going to let emotions about something else stand in his way.  
"I'm not following you."   
  
Ryoko stared as suddenly, Tenchi was before her, barring her  
way. His bloodied sword was held point down and loosely in  
his grip, and a quiet authority from that brooked no  
disobedience emanated from his being.  
  
"You're not going back." In his heart, a question flared, but he  
pushed it aside, masking it with resolute words. "I'm not  
letting you."  
  
She paused, then... "But you can't, you'll...!"  
  
"It doesn't matter," he returned evenly. "I won't leave them to  
be surprised and die like that."  
  
A brief silence followed Tenchi's silent but resolute  
announcement.  
  
"You'll never get to them before the horsemen." The fight with  
the drakkarim had decided that much for them.  
  
"But I'm not leaving them to die."  
  
Ryoko's face set in determination, or perhaps it always had  
been that way. "Then I'll follow you..."  
  
"No." He whispered. "I won't let you."   
  
"Nor will I let *you* make that decision, Acolyte Tenchi  
Masaki." As if to prove her point, her hand went to the  
pommel of her weapon, poised to draw, and he started  
somewhat. Quickly, not giving him time to gather his  
thoughts, she continued. "It's a ticket to the afterlife, and we  
both know it."  
  
He was silent, perhaps trying to gather his thoughts, phrase a  
reply.  
  
"It won't make a difference if either of us try to go back,"  
Ryoko continued, relentlessly, giving voice to his question.  
"All those who will still die, will die... and if they can prevail,  
they would even if neither of us went back."   
  
Tenchi's eyes closed in defeat. "But we simply HAVE to do  
something... Their weapons are in the armoury and they will  
be..." his voice broke at the thought.  
  
"Well, I'd go back... even if it's just to make sure you won't."  
Even under the strong veneer of Ryoko's words, her concern  
for him still showed.  
  
"If I'm not going back, no one is."  
  
"Then *what* are we supposed to do!?"  
  
Yes, what? He could almost hear his own self shouting back  
at him in distress, echoing Ryoko.  
  
In the darkness of his mind, almost subconsciously, Tenchi  
began to pray...  
  
Please, guide me. Tell us what to do...  
  
And suddenly, he was answered. A decision was made, and  
cast as deeply into his being as if the hand of Tsunami had  
etched it within him herself  
  
Tenchi's eyes opened, and Ryoko could see they no longer  
wracked with turmoil, but at peace with his decision.  
  
"It won't make a difference if we go back, so neither of us  
will." He sheathed his sword, his manner as light and relaxed  
as it usually was. "Let's go where we count." For the first time  
since he fought with the drakkarim, he broke into a smile, and  
though it was lined with weariness it was yet a warm genuine  
smile. "We will travel to Holmgard and warn the king."  
  
And despite herself, despite the situation and all that, Ryoko  
found it within her to smile back too, the brief mirth from him  
spreading almost as if directly from his heart to hers.  
  
At least this way, we will be together...  
  
"And after that?"  
  
"We will serve our lord the king." The smile vanished from  
Tenchi's face as he thought about the army heading towards  
the place he had been brought up. "If they think they can just  
take the Cyr out just by taking the monastery down like  
that..." His hand went to his pommel. "We'll prove them  
wrong."  
  
Ryoko nodded too, grimly. "Right."   
  
====================================  
  
Cyriador watched with concern as, despite the spells raised  
by the Archmagi, the cloud of blackness flowing out from  
where the Darklord had been was steadily growing and  
pouring over the area, and the Elvish Elite were falling back,  
for as the darkness enveloped one of them there would be  
heard a cry of agony amidst a burst of green light or of a  
flashing white glove, followed by the sound of flesh being  
rent apart by unseen talons. Behind them other Elites had  
taken to firing in support of the spells flowing from the  
Archmagi, but though their arrows and spells felled what  
seemed well over an entire army of the fell beasts, there never  
seemed to a limit to their numbers...  
  
Even for a creature of such power, Kagato knew that if the  
crypt spawn had been purely of his making, they would have  
long since fallen to nothingness, but sure there was an  
outside power here. He could almost feel Tokimi smiling  
down on him as with a sudden stab of his sword or fist he  
felled another of Tsunami's champions, who had been  
enveloped by the darkness and was too caught up with  
battling the spawn or distracted by the shadows to notice the  
Darklord's treacherous blow before it robbed him or her of  
life.  
  
Prelate Cyriador concentrated, feeling her power gather  
around her as she beseeched aid from Tsunami to stem the  
flowing tide of darkness... and a blaze of gold erupted below  
the spawn, the shrieking of their hellish voices in agony  
within the light as well as the chagrined Kagato was revealed  
in all his sinister glory surrounded by the writhing forms of  
his servants.  
  
A rain of arrows and daggers streaked through the air in  
response to the increased visibility, and practically in the  
blink of an eye, almost all the crypt spawn had been slain.  
Kagato himself vanished away to reappear behind the  
Archmagi, and the arrows he had snatched out of the air he  
hurled out as he materialised, catching two Archmagi by  
surprise as the shafts burst clean through their bodies to be  
halted by the shielding spells of the other elves.  
  
Kagato smiled as he raced forward towards the group of  
Archmagi, the space about his form flashing an eerie green as  
a multitude of spells hurled by Archmagi and Elite alike burst  
harmlessly against his defenses, which surely would have  
been brought down were it not for the evil energy gathering  
around the place...  
  
Truly Tokimi smiles on me today!  
  
The Archmagi sped aside as the Elite closed in once more on  
Kagato, and a swing, so swift it was nigh invisible, of the  
Darklord's huge blade cleaved apart both swords of an elf  
before splitting him neatly through the waist.   
  
Something is wrong! Cyriador's mind told her. Powerful  
though the Darklord was, indestructible though he was, there  
was still a way to bring him down, at least enough so that he  
would be too weak to cause more injury...   
  
Yet how is it that even Tsunami's blessing on the weapons'  
could not prevent my brethren's blades from being sundered  
and their lives sundered with them!?  
  
"Fall back!" she cried as she winged in like a vengeful spirit,  
both her swords engulfed in cerulean flame as her eyes  
raised to meet his, her face fixed into a visage of wrathful  
anger, and her descent upon Kagato was as that of a tempest  
raging across the desolate ground that had once been the  
vibrant greenery of the Nexus of Edwyn.  
  
"My, oh my, I am soooo scared," the Darklord leered as  
amidst the rush of her wrath sparks of azure and emerald  
flew, and even among the Elite few could even make out the  
slower blur of Kagato's moving glove, and the dark sinister  
green from his sword, shining like a parody and travesty  
amidst the surroundings that had bore a similar hue before  
being robbed and transformed to desolation. Surges of  
power and magic laced about the Prelate, springing unto the  
Darklord, but the diabolical glee of the evil being seemed to  
grow with the arcane might hurled against him, the might that  
while increasing, yet seemed far from sufficient. Though  
Cyriador was the one pressing the Darklord, it was plain to  
see that while she was above him both in speed and pure  
skill, she would never overcome the power radiating from the  
immortal, fed by the infernal Deathstaff, and should her rage  
wear off her exertions would soon take a toll that would spell  
her doom at his devlish hands. In a different situation, her  
abilities might at least have brought him to a deadlock, albeit  
still one where he would eventually gain the upper hand, but  
not now, not here, and Kagato knew it. "You really have to do  
better, my dear."  
  
A blaze of emerald fire suddenly erupted from the Darklord's  
finger tips as his left hand moved to ward off her blow, and  
agony streaked up her right hand as for a moment her blade's  
flame flickered a brief ghastly green, and she fell back. Her  
momentary lapse was quickly taken advantage of, and the  
sweep of the Darklord's blade descended towards her  
undefended shoulder blade...  
  
====================================  
  
There was a moment as many of the Elite, seemingly unable  
to bear witnessing the demise of their leader, averted their  
faces.  
  
The green broadsword stopped dead in the air.  
  
Kagato looked down at his chest in surprise, from which two  
swords of flaming blue fire were protruding. His eyes finally  
dawning with the knowledge of what had happened, the  
Darklord opened his mouth to scream, but before any sound  
could be heard, the azure fires had engulfed him and his  
vision.  
  
His face grim with determination, Hisamura tore his two  
blades outwards from each other, ripping Kagato's form  
apart, and the Darklord's form burned away into pieces of  
black shadow that vanished.  
  
Cyriador watched him, not seeming the least surprised, and  
at the same time about half of the Elite and Archmagi, mainly  
those who had turned away as Kagato was about to strike  
Cyriador, turned their attentions to the advancing army and  
rampaging beasts tearing through the Nexus.  
  
The air between them still seething somewhat with what the  
Darklord's essence, the two Prelates looked silently at each  
other. No word of thanks, nothing spoken whatsoever...  
  
Then next moment they were together, back to back, all four  
burning blades held at the ready, as the rest of the Elite  
fanned out, wary and watchful and at the ready.  
  
"You okay?" One of the Elite, moving close to them,  
whispered to Cyriador, who smiled briefly in response.  
  
"I'm fine, dear."  
  
Nodding, Lotharel moved from them, not a flicker of emotion  
crossing his face, as they waited...  
  
=== End of Chapter ===  
  
Dear Readers  
  
TM Fantasy was very late in coming, partially due to some  
problems I had originally. After conception I realised the  
project was too large for me to handle and tried to enlist some  
writers to help me out with the story. Three agreed, but as  
personal matters hemmed in they gradually vanished, sort of.  
Discouraged, I left the story for a while, but in the end decided  
since I had already written so much, to may as well submit it,  
though this is not the complete chapter I had in mind.  
  
Many thanks to Kai Kerrigan and NightOwl for helping out,  
both with writing and ideas. Kudos to Ni-chan too for helping  
out with many ideas and plot issues ^_^  
  
Well I guess the rest of it depends on the reception to this first  
chapter, hope that those interested in seeing more chapters  
can write in to me at zyraen@yahoo.com ^_^ Maybe with  
motivation more chapters might yet come to fruition.   
  
Oh and please, PLEASE provide feedback on how to write  
better ^^;; how to improve and all that... or what you would  
like to see more of in the fic. Thanx ^^;;  
  
Due to the potential size of this project, there are numerous  
vacancies for Author Created Characters (ACCs) in the  
storyline. Some roles have been taken by mine, NightOwl's  
and Kai's characs,   
  
but I think there are yet many spaces left, provided we ever  
reach that far ahead in the story ^^;; Just let me know in an  
email that you wish to submit an ACC, but don't provide any  
details on him/her till you get a reply ^_^ which should be  
soon.  
  
Of writers for this project, currently only NightOwl has  
expressed some degree of willingness to follow through, the  
rest have more or less dropped out permanently, I suppose,  
Kai to wrap up his own fic first. If anyone's interested in  
helping out, and feels he has what it takes , also hope to hear  
from you in my email ^_^ thanks...  
  
Last but not least, thank you so much for reading this fic.  
Hope you have enjoyed it as much as we have writing it...  
heh.  
  
Sincerely and Gratefully Yours  
  
Zyraen 


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